


While We Fall

by WolfPrincessSarah



Series: AI Verse - Sarah [1]
Category: Original Work, RWBY
Genre: Abyssal Infinitum Universe, Expanded Universe, Flowery Narrator, Gen, Gun porn, Guns, Penny is a ball of sunshine, Protagonist diagnosed with an extreme case of nerd, Seriously so much weapon porn, Shared Fan Universe, Shared Universe, Sorta Slice of life, Trans Female Character, Trans Female Protagonist, Underpowered protagonist, Welcome to hell we take payment in angst or self-indulgent commentary, Worldbuilding, gratuitous fan wank, pointless philosophy, possibly insane author, side story turned main story, tropetastic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfPrincessSarah/pseuds/WolfPrincessSarah
Summary: Temporarily on Hiatus to getBefore the Whims of FateandApocalypse State of Mind's timelines caught up with this story."So that's it. I'm in Remnant—a death world that should have been just fiction (...) but at least I still have my gun."A strange human woman finds herself suddenly transplanted into Mantle. Frigid, bereft of any support or resources, she sets off on a quest for answers and to find a place to stay before she starves, freezes to death or is eaten by a Grimm. With her own memories fragmented, it quickly becomes clear to her there is far more to this world—and even her story—than she knows.As the Fall races towards her, she's forced to choose between taking a chance to make the story she knows just a little bit better, or just watching what happens from a distance and trying to stay alive.Sarah Sable is just one woman—outnumbered, outgunned, and outplanned. But can she really just watch while they fall?
Series: AI Verse - Sarah [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963291
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Exposed

**Author's Note:**

> Other stories that happen during the same time period this story is set in: 
> 
> Main Story, following the Canon Characters: [_Before the Whims of Fate_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930071/chapters/65721754)  
>  Team VILT's story: [_Apocalypse State of Mind_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513388/chapters/51278278) (OC Story)
> 
> [Click here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513859/chapters/51279571) for an in-universe encyclopedia with various informational entries related to the overall universe, but beware of spoilers for these stories.
> 
> For all stories and bonus content in this shared universe, please see [this tag](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Abyssal%20Infinitum%20Universe).

_In the crucible of danger..._

_Adrenaline's heat can warm even the coldest hearts._

* * *

When the sensations of my body returned, the only thing I could really feel was coldness.

I woke up then to the sound of wind howling in my ears, and a damp wetness soaking through my hoodie, into my t-shirt. I felt my breasts resting on something horribly frigid, and my hands dug into the surface, to try to get a feel for what I was on.

My fingers melted some of what it was digging through. It almost felt like sand, but I knew what snow felt like.

I rolled onto my side and groaned, feeling a strange ache in my midsection. It stopped me for a moment, and my eyes were blinded by the sheer sight of whatever it was out there, and I slammed them shut again when the ache hit the front of my skull.

I slowly opened them again, clearing away some frost that had formed from my tears. And as soon as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I beheld the vision of an endless frozen tundra, stretching out before me like an ocean of ivory.

"Fucking hell, where am I?"

I drew my legs inwards towards my chest, then grunted as I pushed myself upright. As soon as my torso could balance without it, I pulled my rapidly-numbing hand away from the snow, stuffing it into my hoodie's pocket.

Almost absent-mindedly, I palmed my phone out of my hoodie's other pocket and powered it on, figuring—or at least, hoping—that I could maybe use it to call for help, or figure out where I was.

Yet, no matter how many times or how hard I depressed the power button on the side with my thumb, its LCD screen stubbornly refused to display any other color than black, and its status indicator flashed three times, with each press.

_Great, battery's dead._

I slipped the cheap phone back into my pocket, then brought my leg to bear, trying to push off against the frozen earth. Mercifully, the combat boots I always wore handled rough terrain like this fairly well, but I wouldn't want to chance it against ice.

My head ached. I tried to remember how I got here, the last thing that happened. All I got back from the corners of my mind were brief flashes of moments, passing videos that were gone as quickly as they arrived. 

I remember a casual brunch, about two weeks ago. Sunday. Some co-workers and I had decided to head to a retreat outside of the city. Then, the next week, Roberta told me she was going to re-enlist and go back to the front lines.

I was upset and worried, but she was my friend, and I respected her choice. 

Privately, I almost wished I could have gone too.

Two days later, I was watching the news, and I hear the Korean front had been pushed all the way back to Seoul, and the talking heads were saying they thought the area couldn't be held. 

The whole world was going to shit.

I groaned and brought a palm up to my aching head. 

Again, where was I?

I looked around my surroundings, trying to find some sort of landmark. Apart from snow and the occasional frozen mountain in the distance that I was pretty familiar with, I didn't see much. Isolated buildings, way off in the distance.

Eventually, however, I turned in one direction in particular. 

I saw a flying city on a rock, tethered to another, more polluted and dingy-looking one. The upper one looked to be almost suspended in the abyss, blocking my vision of the sky beyond, and casting a great shadow on the one underneath it.

The underside of the flying city had a massive ring in its center, and a number of other smaller, Greco-Roman looking domes and struts extending off of it.

I pursed my lips and brushed a little bit of snow out of my bangs. 

"No, I've seen that before, I know it."

I took a sharp breath of the frozen air with my nose, as if sampling it would help confirm my suspicions. Though, that proved to be not a smart move, as my mucus swiftly froze and I had to blow it out out of discomfort.

Been a while since I've been back to the rockies, I guessed.

I coughed and sniffled again, softly.

This had to be a dream. I couldn't even begin to fathom what I saw occuring any other way. But there was a way to tell for sure.

I extracted my right hand back out from my hoodie's pocket, and pulled the purple sleeve up past my wrist. There was a, well, a scar there, from a minor surgery a long time ago. It was also the best litmus test I had for whether I was dreaming or not.

I often wanted to learn how to lucid dream on the regular, and this was my way of doing it—convincing myself that in dreams, this scar wasn't there. It worked, actually.

I looked down at my wrist and I saw the all-too familiar discoloration of the scar.

I sighed. Scar was there, cold feels real enough, I definitely feel _wet_ enough. 

"This is Atlas," I stated flatly. "From that show."

☾◯☽

I hadn't really noticed it before, but my purse—a simple black leather number that could be both slung over your shoulder and worn like a gun holster—had also supposedly made it here.

It was slightly overturned, jammed into a nearby snowbank, but I knew since I was always paranoid about zipping the thing up, most of its contents should still have been in there.

As I walked over to the snowbank, I also fumbled around underneath the back of my t-shirt, looking for an object that _should_ have been stowed there.

Finally, my hand found purchase on a wooden grip, and I drew my revolver out from my clothes. 

I stopped there, examining it and praying to the moon and stars that the monsters I knew were out here wouldn't find me while I'm this vulnerable.

I called it _Amour_. It was a Chiappa Rhino 60DS. Fourty-cal, Smith and Wesson. It's just a standard model, blackened parts and a custom composite grip. I'd had it engraved a year ago with a beautiful floral pattern, inlaid in silver.

Thing is, I had two of these. The other one, similar engravings, and I called _Guerre_. 

_Amour et Guerre._ Love and war.

I only carried the one revolver with me, outside. Which one, it depended on the day, I liked to rotate them out. I assumed, though, that I'd left _Guerre_ behind.

I shuffled the pistol back into my back holster, then picked up my purse, unzipped it, and grabbed a hair tie to keep my long, black mane from blowing into my face.

I tied my hair back, though that was a challenge in itself, given the high winds.

I then zipped my purse back up and slung it over my back, standing upright. My hair and bangs blew to the left. At least that felt oddly comforting to me, though my bangs getting disheveled was a minor annoyance.

"So that's it. I'm in Remnant—a death world that should have been just fiction, and I'm also in one of the worst places _in_ Remnant to be."

I looked out at Atlas, then sighed wistfully.

"I have a phone with a dead battery, and a wallet with identification and money that isn't valid here. No friends, no family, and no place to stay."

I put my combat boots into the snow, and started to walk towards the city, braving the gusts of wind.

"But at least I still have my gun."

☾◯☽

As I stomped a path through the snow, to the gates of Mantle, I racked my memories, trying to remember as much about the city as I could from the show. I know it was season seven—that was when we saw it for the first time. Long after their world, Remnant, had already fallen apart.

Maybe the problem isn't that I didn't know where I was, but more that I didn't know _when_ it was. There are some times in the show where it's good to be in Atlas or Mantle.

Other times, not so much.

There was no massive fleet of airships amassed near Atlas. So this wasn't _then_ , and the city still looked intact and not, like, an active warzone, so it wasn't volume eight either.

Earlier, maybe?

I reasoned that if I ran into a military checkpoint, a snarling Sabyr, or wrecked airships, I'll know that it was one of those bad times pretty much immediately.

Finally, I was close enough to the rusted, almost makeshift-looking, corrugated outer walls to see a guard patrolling the top level. I couldn't tell from a distance what they were. 

As I approached, he stopped walking and yelled out to me.

"Halt! State your name and purpose in Mantle!"

_Uhm, shit._

I froze in my tracks and tried to come up with a convincing lie to get past him. Nothing really came to me, so I decided to tell some of the truth instead.

"My name is Sarah! I've been walking out here for _so long_! Please let me in, before I get eaten by a Grimm or something!"

"Alright, fine, just— just stay there! I'm opening the closest entrance for you!"

The guard disappeared down into the wall itself, I imagined through a hatch or something.

I walked closer to the wall, and could see the rusted out panels close up. In one of them, there was a small, newer-looking door.

A moment later the door suddenly opened with a metallic groan, and the soldier stepped out into the tundra with me, beckoning me in.

He was wearing a helmet covering the upper half of his face, and his uniform was definitely not ostentatious or extravagant. The parts of the face I could see were lightly browned, and he looked bulky, even underneath all that chest armor.

"Well, c'mon in!"

I walked over to the door and followed him through, ending up in the much warmer, albeit claustrophobic, insides of the wall. I looked above me and saw rusted, patchy sheeting was the only thing between me and the frigid sky above.

"Don't know how you ended up out there, but you're lucky you got lost during Antumbra. Year ago, and you would have frozen to death out there in just a few seconds."

_Antumbra? What?_

I shuffled that thought away for later, deciding to brush the snow out of my bangs as I looked at the soldier who'd saved my life.

"Thank you so much, sir."

"Don't mention it." He shrugged and smiled at me, and I found it oddly endearing, really. 

"Guardsmen are sworn to protect the people."

"Guardsmen?" I asked, a little confused.

"You must have been out there too long, got your brain a little chilled, uh, what was your name, again?"

"Sarah."

"Pleasure." He nodded at me. "Pee-Eff-See Ash Ederne, at your service."

PFC. Private First Class. Lowest rank in a lot of services back home, so I wagered this buff lad was wet behind the ears, a little bit—must have been why he's stuck guarding a piece of scrap metal instead of something more important.

"Pleasure's mine, private. Ah, Ederne, you mean like that one uhm—"

"Admiral?!" He chuckled. "Or the Ace Operative? We Edernes are all over the place in the military. Last I heard, Elm was on tundra patrol out by Outpost Bravo, and my uncle, the Admiral, he's in Vale with the fifth fleet."

"Why's he in Vale?"

"Festival security. Ironwood's orders."

I hummed a little, pondering my next question. I didn't want to take up too much of this soldier's time, but he seemed friendly and amiable. 

"So why'd you let me in so quickly?"

"Well, dunno if you could tell by the helmet"—he cheekily tapped his forehead plate—"But I'm with the Atlesian Self-Defense Force Army Ground Corps."

He straighened his arm out, then shrugged, bobbing his head off to the side. "A-K-A the Atlesian Guard."

"So you're here to let random girls you find wandering out in the tundra into Mantle."

"Mmhm. Also Ironwood's orders, straight down from the man himself—Atlas is here to help, and her borders will never be closed to those in need."

I pursed my lips a little. _Were it always so easy_ _._

"Alright, well. I should be going, then."

Ash walked over to the other side of the wall, the one closer to Mantle, then propped open a similar looking door. On the other side I could see asphalt and electrical lighting, and I could hear a strange thrumming noise that swiftly flew by the door, followed by a bulky-looking floating vehicle of some kind.

I figured it led into the city itself.

Before walking in, I paused at the threshold and turned back to Ash, suddenly remembering something important.

"Does he have a beard?"

Ash bit his lip and turned his head to the side, seemingly confused. "Pardon?"

"Ironwood. Does he have a beard?"

"Weird question to ask. You sure you're okay? Hypothermia's no joke—"

I tersely interrupted him. " _I'm fine._ Can you answer the question?"

The soldier grimaced, but then finally replied to my odd inquiry.

"No, the General doesn't have any facial hair. It's against ASDF regs. Same reason my own face is clean."

"I see. Well, thank you, sir, for your kindness. I'll be moving on now."

I turned to the open door and stepped a foot out into Mantle.

"Back to the wind, girl. If you need any more help, let me or another Guardsman know."

☾◯☽

Sometimes even I surprise myself with how quickly I can figure things out and adapt. I had barely stepped foot into Mantle and I'd already figured out roughly where and when I was: before the Fall of Beacon, but definitely in the era the show was set.

Now the real question, I guess, is, now what?

Do I try to find the characters on the show, warn them about what's about to happen? Maybe try to be a hero in my own right? Moon and stars, If you'd asked me a year ago that I'd be an isekai protagonist now, I would have laughed it off.

But here I was, in a world that was not my own, tucking my cold arms as tightly to me as I could, and standing on a street that seemed familiar in a few ways, but utterly alien in others.

It's one thing to watch from afar, but actually being there, well, that's a different feeling.

I wasn't sure if I liked it yet.

The people of Mantle barely gave me more than passing glances. Some of them stared a little longer than was comfortable, and I idly brushed my hand against the metallic lump on my back when they did so.

I didn't _want_ to hurt anyone, but I was no stranger to walking around as a woman in dangerous neighborhoods. If I had to defend myself, I was always prepared to. Always strong. 

Always strong. But even the strong need help sometimes.

I had decided on a course of action. I needed a place to stay. At the very least, I needed somebody to tell me where I _could_ stay. Maybe even somebody who was willing to believe me.

I walked back to the defense wall, and shouted at one of the Guards.

"Hey! Can one of you tell me where I can find something?!"

"What is it?!"

"I'm looking for a clinic down here. I don't know where it is specifically, but I know it's owned by an old man. Uhm, I think his name is Pet— Pietro?"

"Polendina's shop? Yeah, sure. Dunno what you'd need with a prosthetics doc, considering all your parts are still in one piece, but it's, uh— actually, I'll come down and show you with my Scroll."

☾◯☽

Thankfully, it wasn't terribly far - about ten blocks to the northeast. Whatever powers that made me end up here, at least they'd thrown me more than a few bones so far.

After many twists and turns and shady characters dodged, I finally found myself outside of a brick building with what was seemingly the multiversal sign of medicine hovering above it in a shimmering blue specter—the classic Swiss cross.

Maybe I'll have to ask somebody where they got the idea for that symbol from, in this universe.

"The lights are on, at least. If he were up in Atlas right now, I'd probably be screwed."

Before entering, I decided to sate a pit in my stomach that had been growing over the last few minutes of my walk.

I dug around in my purse and pulled out a tiny tube of trail mix that I usually tucked in there for emergencies and horked down the entire thing in about two seconds.

I about tossed it into a nearby trash can, but then realized that even the tiniest proof of my origins might help me in the conversation I'm about to have. I tucked the wrapper back into my purse, then set out across the street.

I sighed and steeled myself for whatever may come.

☾◯☽

When I opened the door into the clinic and walked through, I was met with what I was hoping to be met with—a kindly old balding man, seated behind a reception desk.

"Welcome, welcome— how can I help you this evening, ma'am?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

The fact that I was presently face-to-face meeting a person that until a few hours ago, I was convinced was entirely fictional, weighed heavily on my mind.

I was racking my memories of the show for something that would get this man to listen to me, and communicate that I had knowledge I shouldn't.

I settled on four things. Four shots in the dark.

"Sabyr got your tongue, miss?"

"My name is Sarah. I, uhm. Look, what I'm about to say is going to sound crazy, and even I have trouble believing it."

"Sweetheart, I'm a scientist and a doctor. I try to keep an open mind about everything."

"Good. Because this is straining suspension of disbelief, even for me." 

I exhaled.

"Salem. Staff of Creation. Fria. Ozpin. Ring any bells?"

Pietro's eyes widened. The damning silence made my heart race.

☾◯☽

Pietro maneuvered his chair out from behind his reception counter, coming close enough to step on my foot, if he wanted to. His formerly jovial expression had faded.

It was here I could behold every detail on his face. Every liver spot, every white fiber of his beard. His jovial belly, and reddish plaid shirt. It wasn't the same outfit I had seen him with later.

"It rings _many_ bells, girl. Who are you? How do you know these things?"

"It's complicated, but I would like to at least start with the fact that I'm not a threat."

Pietro tapped a control on his chair and brought up a hard-light interface. I couldn't see what he was doing from where I stood.

"I find that difficult to believe when you walk into my shop with a revolver on your back, and what looks to be a holdout pistol strapped against your left calf."

"They are not to use against you, Doctor."

I reached behind my back, under my hoodie and withdrew a massive high-tech looking revolver, _Amour_ from its resting place.

Pietro tensed up when I brandished it.

I placed it down on the far side of the reception desk and slid it towards him, then reached down to my calf and pulled up my jeans.

"Despite my armed status, I have no support in Mantle."

A moment later, I'd retrieved a tiny semi-automatic pistol.

I ejected the magazine, racked the slide with a practiced grace to ensure there was no bullet in the chamber, and slid both across to Pietro.

"I have no Scroll nor a single Lien to my name."

I looked at him, and his eyes had seemingly softened as he looked disdainfully at the two firearms.

"I am somebody who is lost, and I am humbly requesting aid, nothing more."

He looked back at me with a frown.

"Alright. Come upstairs with me, we can talk in private up there. Don't worry about your things, they'll be safe here, and I'll lock up for now. Shop owner's prerogative, you know."

Pietro picked up the two guns, then tucked them into a bookcase that was next to an examination table in the same room.

"Leave your bag here, as well. That was harder to scan—just how much stuff do you have in there, anyway?"

"Oh, you know. Just a lady's daily essentials."

"Mmhm," Pietro said, clearly unconvinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *did* say fast and loose.
> 
> Chapter 2 coming soon.
> 
> \----
> 
> Future Sarah: Maybe a little too fast and loose, hun. I did some editing.
> 
> \----
> 
> Even more future Sarah: I completely rewrote whole swaths of this chapter. Enjoy, it's a lot better and has more details. Also, have some important commentary.
> 
>  **Military Men**  
>  Ash Ederne is based on a no-note Military Huntsman that appeared only once in a blink-and-you-miss-it scene in V7E3: Ace Operatives. He's a lot similar to his cousin, Elm Ederne, who you probably actually know, in that he's a friendly, jovial lad who loves his job and wouldn't want to be doing anything else in the world.  
>   
> Despite that, he's not a 'yes man' by any stretch of the definition, and isn't blindly loyal to Ironwood, unlike his cousin. Admiral Ederne, similarly, is based on a no-note ship captain with a very fancy mustache, who appeared during the Fall of Beacon, on the ship that Roman co-opts to transmit Cinder's virus.  
>   
> Yeah, things don't end well for him.  
>   
> While Ash doesn't play a significant role in this story, he does get fast-tracked up the ranks and given a Military Huntsman Commission after the Fall of Beacon.  
> 


	2. Adrift

_Mistake not the nightmares of men…_ _  
_

_For the dreams of monsters._

* * *

Pietro's apartment in Mantle was less ostentatious than I imagined a man of his stature would have down here, but then again, he seemed the humble type. That's part of the reason I decided to try to trust him, really.

While I have a ballpark idea of what's going on, I still don't know _exactly_ when I am. If he believes me, I'd like to ask about some important background details so I can figure out how long I have to … I don't know, do something? If nothing else, I can be prepared for what's coming myself and weather the storm.

Even so, the show itself was usually stingy about committing to a specific timeline. I can use the events I know about as reference points, I guess.

"Take a seat, young miss. What was your name again?"

"Sarah."

I picked a ratty brown loveseat from the meager selection of seating in the main room of the apartment, and Pietro started to move himself over to the kitchen.

"Alright, then. Care for some tea, Sarah? I just got some incredible Umbral Tea, fresh from Vacuo."

"You're oddly hospitable to someone who just casually mentioned things that maybe a dozen people in the world are trusted to know, at most."

Honestly, mentioning them to Pietro was also a little bit of a gamble on my part. I didn't _know_ if he'd know about all of that, not for certain. I guess maybe Ironwood filled him in even before the fall? Or maybe he figured it out on his own.

"I find hospitality is an obligation of one's host, miss. Regardless of his personal feelings towards his guests."

"As do I."

"Then you were raised with good manners. Tea?"

"No, thank you. I will take a glass of water, though. I've been walking through the tundra for a little too long."

"Alright," Pietro said gently.

A moment later, he'd returned with a mug emblazoned with the Atlas logo and a simple glass of water. I accepted the latter happily and practically downed the whole thing in one go.

"Well, you were thirsty. Want some more?"

"No thanks, Doc. I'm good for now. Maybe we should get down to business?"

"Yes."

Pietro shifted around in his chair, maybe trying to get a more comfortable position. He looked pensively into his Vacuan tea.

"So how did you come to know these—these impossible things?"

☾◯☽

I needed to play my answer to his question cautiously. I can't lie, but I can't exactly tell the whole truth either. Maybe I need to take a page out of good old Obi-Wan's book, and tell the truth, but from a certain point of view.

"Has Remnant science ever conjured up something called multiverse theory? Parallel worlds?"

"Mmh, no. Not the Atlesians. I heard of a few Valen researchers discussing the topic. Are you saying you're from another world, Sarah?"

"I guess I am. I don't quite remember how I got here, though."

"If you're from another world, how exactly do you know about Salem? Does she threaten your home as well?"

"Not exactly. My people, we have the— _ability_ to peer into other worlds and watch events as they occur. I found myself stranded here, and I vaguely knew where to go. Just not a lot of specifics."

I stood up from my chair and walked over to the window, looking out at the Mantlean skyline.

"We have the ability to watch, not actually travel. That's why my arrival here was unexpected."

"And yet you were still carrying weapons?"

"My home is almost as dangerous as yours."

I turned back to face Pietro.

"Especially for someone like me."

"You mean a Watcher?"

Oh. I guess he assumed that watching other worlds was like a _job_. Well, I can't control what he infers—I can only control what I say.

"Something like that. Look, I don't expect you to take everything I say at face value. Look through my bag, examine my weapons. You'll not find a trace of Dust on any of them. We don't have it back home. You'll find my technology runs on methods probably very different to yours."

I paused. Maybe I should establish a technological baseline so I can be certain. They were rather vague about technology on the show.

"How do your computers work, Doctor?"

"Light crystals, fiber optics. Lots of Dust tech. Why do you ask?"

"In my purse there's a tablet, a battery pack, and associated accessories. Every single one of them runs on copper and silicon. Comparatively primitive, I wager, but roughly comparable to your technology, from what I've observed."

"I see."

"There's more—like I said, we don't have Dust back home. My guns use brass casings filled with a chemical compound we call smokeless gunpowder ignited by a small incendiary charge, and the sheer compressed gas from the explosion inside the case to accelerate a solid lead projectile."

"So, your science is alchemical in nature instead of magical?"

I shrugged.

"Sorta. You can verify what I've said however you like, even disassemble one of my guns and my bullets to verify my story. But I am placing my life and fate in your hands, Doctor. I'd ask you to not tell anyone, for now."

"Hmm. It will take time to verify everything. Even if I did tell someone, I don't know who would even believe me. Very well, Sarah."

"I appreciate it. Really."

"Don't mention it, girl. Now, you did say you didn't have money, nor a place to stay, young miss?"

"I am adrift in your lands, yes."

"An overly flowery way of saying it—you're a strange girl. Well, if you like for now, you could stay here in Mantle, in this apartment. My work takes me to the upper city often, so you'd have the place to yourself most of the time."

"You'd really trust me with that?"

"Hell, no, girl. I have surveillance everywhere in this place, and there's nothing really valuable here anyway. Everything important is locked downstairs and only I have the key. There's a back entrance you can use to get in and out of the apartment, though. Though I should state explicitly that this is _not_ a permanent arrangement, and I am merely doing this out of scientific curiosity."

"And what about money? I imagine you'd want rent?"

"I'm not as spry as I used to, and this apartment, if you couldn't see, is a little dingy and cluttered. Look after it, and help me down in the pharmacy when I'm here, and we'll call things even for now. If I verify who you are with relative certainty, I'll re-evaluate accordingly."

Pietro took a sip of his tea before continuing.

"As for money, well, that's on you. There's a fair amount of under-the-table work here in Mantle, if you know where to look. I can give you some leads, if you like."

"Thank you, Pietro. I really don't know what to say."

"A simple 'thank you' suffices. The doors of Atlas are always open to the lost, Sarah."

I turned back to the window, looking out at Mantle again.

"Were it so easy all the time."

I was quiet for a moment, then opted to finally ask the questions that had been weighing on my mind.

"The Vytal Festival?"

"What about it?"

"This is probably going to sound crazy and oddly specific, but how far off is it?"

"It's in July this year. About a month from now, and preparations are going on as we speak."

I crossed my arms, thinking.

"Where's the Atlesian fleet right now?"

"A more guarded man would be suspicious of such a question, but I'll entertain you for now. Far as I know, the bulk of it is still here, but some elements of it are in Vale, providing extra security for the Vytal festival. Now, may I ask why you'd want to know?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, maybe I can make a hypothesis here. Your people's ability to 'watch', as you put it, includes future events, doesn't it?"

Leave it to the most brilliant mind in Atlas to be able to see right through me.

"Yes, but I was only able to look so far into your world's future, and it seems a chain of events has already been set into motion. I may not be able to stop it."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

I faced Pietro and cocked an intrigued eyebrow.

"Why not? What if your future is dark and full of terrors?"

"Our past and present are dark and filled with terrors, young miss. All I need to know is, do we make it through?"

"Well, yes," I said. For a moment after, I was quiet as I thought of everyone that I knew ended up dying on the show. 

"Mostly."

"Then I don't need to know the details."

"And so I won't say anything, Doctor."

Pietro nodded, and turned his chair around to head back down to the pharmacy. He beckoned me to follow down the stairs. As we went, he kept talking.

"Let's have a look at your strange technology, Miss… Do you have a last name?"

"Doesn't really matter anymore. Just call me Sarah."

"Alright. It's a pretty name, for the record."

"Thanks, I picked it out myself."

Pietro laughed heartily.

"Ah, girl, you know, you remind me a little of my daughter."

"Penny?" I asked.

"Ah, of course you know of her. No, I love Penny dearly, but I was talking of my … other daughter."

I didn't remember Pietro ever mentioning anything about this on the show. Maybe my memory was a little fuzzy, though.

"You had a daughter before Penny?"

"Mmh-hm."

Eventually we'd rounded a corner and arrived back into the exam room. Dr. Polendina moved his chair back over to the bookcase, grabbed my two guns, as well as my purse. He turned himself back around, and walked them back over to me on his lap.

"If you'd be so kind as to show me?"

It was at that moment that I saw Pietro's warm, kind eyes in full detail. Brown, and lovely. To an extent, he reminded me of my grandfather, and what good memories I had left of him. My heart ached for him when I remembered everything that would happen soon.

I wanted to tell him that Atlesian security would fall to pieces, as their own technology becomes a threat to Vale. I wanted to tell him that the world was about to fall into chaos, and that the entire transmit system would be shattered when Beacon Academy falls.

I wanted so badly to tell him that his own daughter would get torn apart in about a month.

But I didn't say any of that.

Instead, I just started crying.

☾◯☽

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm sure you've been through a lot. We can wait a bit, if you—"

"It's not that. I just— I wanted to thank you again."

"It's really nothing, girl."

"I know. I've just, uhm, I've been in survival mode ever since I woke up here. I had no idea you'd be able to help, I just-"

"Took a leap of faith?"

I blinked. 

"Y-Yeah."

"Sweetheart, life is about leaps of faith."

"Don't I know it."

I cleared my eyes, and took a moment to compose myself.

"Alright. If you could hand me the larger pistol?"

He did so. I took it, and the heavy revolver almost immediately put me at ease. I held it carefully away from anything important but aimed down its sight at the floor.

Then I broke out of the pose, and brought the firearm closer to my chest.

"Chiappa Rhino. Chambered in Forty Smith and Wesson. 6 round capacity."

I depressed a lever on the side of the firearm which broke away the cylinder, then pulled one of the bullets out and presented it to Pietro.

"One hundred and sixty-five grains of good old chemical explosive."

He accepted it with his left hand, looking at it closely. I gently put the cylinder back into the gun.

"Yep, I see it. What is P-M-C?"

"Company that made it. There's a lot of manufacturers, those are just the ones who made the box that I was going through back home. My other gun uses those too."

"Looks similar to Dust cartridges, but it feels different." He put his arm down and rolled the bullet around in his hand idly. "So they're all standardized in your world too?"

"Standardized?"

"Here we have the blue book standards. Simplifies supply lines, so we can make sure Huntsman, Huntresses, Guardsmen, etcetera, all get the ammunition they need. Only a few different types of them are available. These look a lot like…"

He looked closer at the bullet.

"Actually, now that I'm looking at them, they're practically the spitting image of ten-millimeter short Dust rounds. Apart from the text, and presumably maybe the mechanism behind them, they look identical in every way."

"Strange," I mused.

"Convergent technological development, maybe?"

"Potentially." I thought for a moment, remembering the guns on the show. "I mean, we'd definitely noticed the similarities back home. Even the guns that fire them are similar."

"Yes, though I was looking at your smaller one here. Given what I know about the other one, I presume 'Ock' is the manufacturer?"

"Oh, haha. No, their logo has always looked weird to me too. They're actually called Glock."

"Glock?"

He looked again.

"Oh! I see it now."

I giggled.

"Yeah, that's a Glock 27. Same bullets as my revolver, just semi-automatic. Carrying weapons that use the same ammunition is a good way to save money."

"So, you seem to know a lot about firearms, young miss. Were you a warrior in your other world?"

"Haha, no. Not exactly. I was a technician. A, uh, shall we say, mechanical type."

"You were a mechanic?"

"Yeah, but I did some electronics work too. Little bit of engineering and fabrication, though that was more of a hobby than anything else. My day job is- _was_ an industrial robotics technician."

I was quiet for a moment.

"Yeah, I was a mechanic," I finally added, despondently. "The reason I know so much about firearms though, is just because I was practically born around them. I knew how to shoot before I was 14. They became even more important to me as … time went on, and I was more at risk than I was before."

"I see. Well, I don't need to know anything more personal to verify your story, miss. May I borrow one of your guns to study? I won't disassemble them, just want to run some tests."

"You can borrow the smaller one, yeah. I'd like to keep the big one, if it's all the same."

"Of course. Though, ah, don't brandish it around the house, if you would."

"Of course not. I know how to be discreet."

"Then I quite like you already, Miss Sarah. Here's your purse back, as well."

He picked up the strap and handed it over to me. I slung it over my shoulder, then held out my own hand flat.

"If I could have that one bullet back? The smaller one has 9 in the magazine, and one in the chamber you can investigate. Though, I would like most of those back as well—I don't have any more and no way to replace them. Is just one enough to test the chemicals of?"

"Should be. We have very good scanners, up in Atlas. I can test it discreetly in my lab and then run a few tests on the gun and the case of the cartridge. Also, I'd like to figure out if there's a way I can make your guns work with our ammunition."

"Wait, really?"

"Of course. If they're so similar, there's no reason why I can't make them work. Though, you need an Aura to be able to use Dust-rounds."

"Damn. I guess I'm kind of screwed there." I shrugged. "Just got here. No Aura to speak of."

Pietro was quiet for a moment. He seemed to look at me closer than he did before, almost as if he was looking for a speck of dirt on my hoodie that was too small to see.

"I wouldn't be so sure, young miss."

He walked his chair forward and beckoned me to lean closer. I was a little apprehensive.

Sensing my anxiety, Pietro decided to explain. "I just want to try to feel if you have an Aura. Nothing harmful, nor invasive, but in order to do it, I have to touch your head."

"Fine." I set my Rhino down on the counter and walked closer.

I leaned in. He placed his left hand on my forehead and closed his eyes. I did the same.

He spoke. 

"And so it is that by these meetings, that we reach our ultimate fate. By my hand, I reach for you, and by my heart, I beseech you."

I gasped as I felt a warmth resonate outwards from somewhere within my body.

_Oh. I think I understand what's happening now._

For the briefest of moments, I felt an energy and a vitality that was almost like a drug to me. Awareness of a sense I had never touched before, and my body felt like it was about to breach the surface of a lake.

Pietro removed his hand, and as quickly as it came, the feeling went away. I stumbled backwards and fell onto the cold tile of the exam room.

As I tried to catch my breath, he addressed me.

"Yes, you have an Aura, young miss."

"Really?"

"I'd have no reason to lie."

"H- How do I—?"

"With training, you can learn to bring it up on your own, but it's like a, ah, child's Aura. Flickering, faint, and weak but still present."

I pulled my knees close to my chest and smiled.

"I have an Aura."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	3. Silent

_Much like darkness is not merely the absence of light…_

_Silence is not merely the absence of sound._

* * *

The next morning, after brushing my teeth with some sort of strange high-tech _stick_ that didn't need toothpaste or even water, I found myself pacing in Pietro's guest bedroom, in front of the still unmade bed.

If some parts of me were still wondering if this was a dream or not, I think they've gotten the hint that no vivid fever dream of mine has ever lasted this long or been so detailed.

I took a sip of water from my glass and stopped pacing.

"So, let's run through this one more time."

It's about one month before the fall. Ironwood is already in Vale. I'd looked at the maps Pietro gave me, along with a hard copy of something called 'A Visitor's Guide to Mantle' written by some Vacuan travel writer. It's clear to me that this world is as big as Earth. Best case scenario, even if I had somebody to fly me there, I'd get to the coast of Sanus in about a week. 

Even if I got there, there was nothing I could really do. There's no guarantee that I could see Ironwood in time, even if I asked Pietro to vouch for me. If I warned them, maybe Salem will just choose a different time, a different avenue of attack. Then the timeline would be irreparably altered—I'd have no idea what was going to happen after.

It's a nasty catch-22. I only _really_ know one version of events. If I change something big, I can't intervene like that again—I only get one shot at this.

Even Pietro seemed to want me to keep my trap shut about what I knew, and honestly, he was right.

_But at the same time, they're people. How many lives would be lost in the fall? How many lives would be lost after the fall?_

"How many lives have been lost already?" I said out loud.

"Lien for your thoughts, watcher?"

Lost in my fretting, I hadn't noticed that Pietro had been standing there .

"Just, uhm, wrestling with things."

"About the future?"

I nodded silently. Pietro sighed.

"Pietro, there's something impor—"

He held up his hand as if to silence me.

"I told you, I don't want to know."

My lips quivered pathetically.

"I don't envy the burden of the knowledge you're carrying, Sarah, and I must ask you to not burden me as well. I mean, who knows? Maybe it's the act of you sharing alone that turns an uncertainty into an inevitability."

I grabbed my own arm and looked off to the side.

"It'll just be really hard to watch things happen and not—"

"Sarah, what are we even talking about here? A crisis? A breach? Does the Amity Colosseum fall out of the sky? We have contingencies in place for all of them. Every risk factor has been accounted for."

I collected myself and looked back at Pietro. From his seated position, he seemed completely immovable.

"Do you have contingencies for random strangers showing up from other worlds, with knowledge they shouldn't have?"

"Well, no, but—"

I walked about a foot closer to Pietro, then crossed my arms.

"Then imagine what else you could have missed," I said grimly.

"Look, I don't know all the details even if I was asked to share. My knowledge is incomplete, fragmented. Big picture. It's hard to explain. All I can say is there's something important you've missed. A hole in your defenses."

Pietro's eyes seemed to angle downwards slightly. 

"I see."

"Would it help if I maybe gave you an idea of where to look?"

"I don't even know if I _should_ look, Sarah."

If somebody asks me later why I sat and watched while all of this happened, I'd like to cite this moment as proof that I _tried_.

"Look, Pietro. I swear I won't interfere on my own. But please listen, just a little bit, so it's an _informed_ decision. What's about to happen, it _will_ tear your world apart. It _will_ not be put back together for a long time, and in the intervening chaos, a lot of people will die."

"But if we try to stop it, it could bring something even worse to our shores."

"You can see why I'm wrestling with the idea myself."

Pietro was quiet for a little longer than was comfortable to me. After what felt like a silent eon, he spoke again.

"You're not to blame."

"I'm sorry?"

"All of this, the _potential_ chaos you speak about, everything you say you saw, it won't be your fault if it happens."

"Of course I know that. I just—"

"But if you do something, _then_ you're responsible for all that comes after. Knowing the future is one thing, girl. Trying to change it, that's when you're culpable for the consequences. If you make things even worse, how will you feel about that?"

He had a point. Morally speaking, I'm not responsible for this. Torchwick, Cinder, what they're about to do, all those people that die, right now that's not on me, not really. Doing nothing when I know all of _that_ is about to happen, I guess it could be argued that I am somewhat of an accomplice through inaction. 

But then I remembered all the things that happen after—Ruby's silver eyes, the Amity Tower plan, Oscar finding Ozpin. If the Fall of Beacon is averted, what if none of that comes to fruition? What if I doom this version of Remnant just because I couldn't stomach watching this happen personally?

It's one thing to watch it on a television screen. It's another thing to _live_ it.

I bit my lip pensively and looked down.

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

"Hmm?"

I looked back up at Pietro.

"I see your point. I won't bring up the future anymore."

"Bring it up all you like. But if your story is true, Sarah, this isn't your world. These problems aren't yours."

_Maybe not, but that doesn't mean it's easy to just wash my hands of them._

"Ah, but I think we've belly-ached about this enough. Breakfast?"

"Thank you, Pietro, that sounds lovely."

"Good, good. I have some Mistrali jam you might like to try."

☾◯☽

"So," Pietro said, stirring his tea, "How are you handling this, girl - all things considered?"

I looked up from my simple plate of eggs and toast, swallowed the soft egg I was currently working my way through, and then laid my fork down.

"Honestly, Pietro, I think it still hasn't fully set in yet. It's obvious to me now. On a rational level, I've accepted it, but—"

"But emotionally, it hasn't registered."

"Yeah," I said.

He sighed, a little sadly. "Maybe a nice walk out in Mantle will clear your senses—help you accept it and maybe figure out your next move?"

"That does sound nice, but I almost would favor going out later this evening."

"Evening?" He crossed his arms and cocked an intrigued eyebrow. "It's more dangerous after dark, and a little colder - even with the heaters. Why do you want to go out then?"

"I need"—I pouted a little, hating that I had this little religious _habit_ —"I mean, I _prefer_ to stay on a nocturnal schedule - to stay sane."

"Well now, isn't that interesting." 

"Why is that interesting?"

"It's just, ah, forgive me girl—but do you know how Aura works?"

"I know the basics. It's like a"—I paused a moment, considering my words—" _spiritual energy_ , of sorts? It allows people here to perform incredibly in fights - protecting them, allowing them to sense what's coming, and making them much stronger than they would be on their own. It's like magic, but really it's closest to a sort of unique _Ch'i_ ability."

"Chi?" Pietro asked.

"Ah, uhm, I consider myself a bit of a student of faith—in my old world, there was a people called the Chinese, and they had a belief that every living being had _Ch'i_ , or a vital force that flowed through them. An energy that needed to be balanced in order to be stable, and certain traditions held that one could even manipulate their _Ch'i_ to enhance themselves."

"Naturally"—I sighed—"It was never verified to exist through scientific means."

Pietro idly shuffled in his chair, adjusting his back angle. "Our Aura must seem like magic to you."

"Yes and no." I poked a fork into my egg idly and looked down. "I was never a scientific person, but nor was I a blind believer. I believe in what I see - trust my own perception more than anything else. I try to stay unbiased as possible, but even flaws in my cognition can bring me enlightenment."

"You seem like a very philosophical girl."

"I'm a seeker of truth."

"Me too, girl—me too."

We were quiet for a moment.

I spoke up again, wanting to get to the original topic.

"So what was interesting about my, ah, nocturnal quirk?"

"I'm surprised you didn't notice." Pietro laid down his fork and clasped his hands together. "Your Aura is black, Sarah."

" _What?_ "

I didn't even think they made Auras in any color that wasn't some flavor of bright neon or color. Black, really? I was expecting it to be purple, honestly - that was my favorite color, after all.

"Yes ma'am. Black as the night sky—but like most Auras, it shimmered a little, which was interesting to me. It didn't look pure black, but sheathed almost in a sort of silvery white."

"Strange," I mused.

"Aura is an expression of our personality and our beliefs - it isn't arbitrary, and the color it takes often has a personal meaning to us beyond things that can be explained with words alone. To be honest, Sarah—"

He slumped back in his chair and gestured at me with an upright palm.

"I feared the worst, when I noticed the color of your Aura. Black is hardly the most trustworthy of colors. Associated here with the Grimm, bandits, and generally unsavory individuals of all walks of life."

"I'm not with any of them, I swear it—"  
  
"I fully believe you—but where they represent evil, well, I don't know what you represent."   
  
Pietro bit the edge off of a slightly burned slice of toast. "You wear the black differently."

"Yeah." I horked down another piece of egg. "I guess I do, and I know why."  
  
"Oh?"

I put my utensils down, my appetite mostly sated for the moment. I felt like honesty, especially at this stage, is very important.

"You know the gods of this world, yes?"

"The Brothers Grimm."

"Yes. I don't put my faith in the gods, angels, spirits, or phantoms that others do—but nor do I put my faith in nothing. I'm an animist, at least sort of, but also not. It's hard to explain."

"You worship the natural world?"

I rested my chin on my hand. "Pretty much, but I tend to focus on a few specific aspects that matter to me more - that define me."

"The night?"

"And all positive things associated with it. My kinship with the moon is particularly strong. I believe that to walk with shadows, unafraid of them, is to be protected. That the phases of the moon center the natural world when the light of the sun fades. That the only time we are truly free to act as we truly are is at night. It's a simple idea, really."

"But definitely not standard?"

"No, not even in my home world." I leaned back in my chair. "I came from a world that was on the edge of armageddon. Not unlike this one, but at least in yours, you mostly work together for the good of all."

Before continuing on, I recognized that there was an implied _'at least, for now'_ at the end of that.

"My homeland was always filled with strife, we were divided along national, racial, ideological, and religious lines. I can't remember a single day where I turned on the news and found nothing but the latest horrible tragedy. A lifetime of war, built on lifetimes of more war. We didn't even have the Grimm as an excuse, we just fought each other. Constantly."

"Ah. Yes, we have somewhat of a sordid past there too."

"Not like we do, _trust_ me. But I was divorced from all that, you know? I tried to make the best of the situation I could, pretend that if I just ignored it, it couldn't harm me. I like to think I had the right of it."

I bit my bottom lip. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"We all just do the best we can, watcher."

My mind drifted to the gaps in my memory. I knew chaos had reached a fever pitch back home, but I don't remember how I found my way here, the memories just ended—no expository bit where I just fall asleep and wake up here or anything, just an abrupt gap after that brunch with my co-workers. Who knows how many memories could be missing?

Internally, I guess I feared the worst. That everyone that mattered to me could be dead. I would have started crying right then and there, but that wasn't my way. 

☾◯☽

After breakfast, Pietro and I had to say goodbye for now. He had a transport waiting to take him back up to Atlas for some work, and I could not come with him to that empyreal city above us. It would raise too many questions for now, but he did promise to verify my story while he was up there, at least.

That was something.

I sat on the couch with my legs crossed. In front of me, an inert brick laid. He left me an old Scroll of his, loaded with some under-the-table job leads. Just a simple text file with Scroll frequencies, so I figured that these had all been learned through word of mouth alone.

It was a kind olive branch. The debit cards and paper bills I came here with, they were worthless, and I couldn't exactly turn them into Remnant's all-consuming Lien. Bartering whatever I came here with would also raise questions I didn't want to answer - and I didn't want to trade away all I had left of home.

On that thought, I made a mental note to ask Pietro why they called their currency the 'Lien' later. At least in my world, it meant like a loan, I think. Maybe it means something different here, but I doubt it. It's just strange.

I would whip out my Switch to pass the time while waiting for the old man to come back, but he did say he might take a couple of days up there to verify everything, and all I really had was a USB charger. Didn't want to waste all of it trying to play Fire Emblem or something.

Remnant wall outlets look weird. Almost European, but I doubt that's compatible electricity pumping out of them. I didn't want to risk exploding my gear irreparably before I knew the rules here.

So, I sat. Rays of the high mid-day sun poked its way through Pietro's ancient tartan curtains. I squinted angrily at the light, almost annoyed at its very presence. 

I pushed myself off of the old couch. "Well, maybe I can try to bring my Aura up. If the Grimm show up, or something, it might be helpful."

I recognized that I was talking to myself—it was a habit of mine. Not that weird, really. Late nights spent alone, working in almost silence, you either learn to fill the quiet or you go insane.

"Alright, so how does this work? I just say some words or something?"

I stood calmly, put my arms by my side, and closed my eyes.

"By the power of Greyskull!" I triumphantly waved my arms out to the side.

Nothing. No warmth, no defensive field, nothing. 

"Shazam!" I threw my hands out in a vague mockery of what I thought resembled a martial arts move.

Still nothing. I pulled my hands back and put them on my waist.

"It's Aura time!" 

And yet, my soul remained frustratingly immobile. I sat back down on the couch and huffed.

Maybe one more try. Something a little more fitting.

I clasped my hands together in a halfhearted prayer pose.

"In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil will escape my sight—"

Again, no magical energy came out.

"Still nothing?!"

_Okay, think, Sarah, think. On the show, Pyrrha did something to Jaune, it was like a mantra? Then, Pietro, he did something similar. Maybe if I remember what Pyrrha said…_

"For, uh, it is in passing that we get—eternal life? No, that's not right."

I racked my brain, trying to remember more of it.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality, through this— damn it, I can't remember the rest."

_Maybe it was more of a personal mantra, about drawing out your own inner strength?_

I pulled myself off of the couch and sat on the floor, kneeling in my usual meditation pose. I laid my right hand in my left and managed my breathing, focusing on drawing in as much focus and air as possible.

_I should just ramble about what I believe and see if it gets me anywhere._

"For it is in umbral embrace, that we achieve—" I paused, thinking of the next word— "Serenity."

In the back of my heart, and I couldn't really explain how, but I could have sworn I felt a candle flicker. Encouraged, I kept going.

"Through this, I become a ward of the night—"

The candle flared brighter, becoming a small torch. I felt its warmth starting to rise in my chest, and I felt almost relaxed. I focused on that warmth, and in my mind's eye I imagined it growing brighter, using its warmth to fill me and envelop me.

"—and by my will, find protection with it."

The torch turned into a scorching flare, and I felt my body heat up even further. But it wasn't an uncomfortable heat, rather it was quite comforting.

"To the sacred darkness that lies within, _I call upon thee!_ "

Suddenly, the flare became a roaring inferno, and I felt my own heat flare outward in a burst of energy. The candle itself flared out, snuffed away by my hubris.

When I came to my senses again, I found I'd been blasted back into the couch, which had been toppled over, knocking about a hundred of Pietro's papers all over his apartment. My purse had similarly been blown away, as well as Pietro's old Scroll.

"Was that my Semblance? No, that's—you need Aura unlocked first to find your Semblance. That was just an accident, like a misfire, I think."

_This may be harder than I anticipated._

And I needed a safer place to practice.

* * *

_Darkness gives us the room to ignore our social roles and be as we are._

_Silence gives us the room to ignore our social urges and think as we must._

_It is one thing to see or hear..._

_Quite another to_ **_feel_ ** _and_ **_listen_ ** _._


	4. Restless, Part 1

_Funny thing about truth—you never know how you'll feel once you've found it._

_Will you accept it as it is? Or stand aghast and refuse to believe it?_

* * *

Far above where Sarah had had her Aura-related misadventure, Pietro's airship had just crossed into the main transit tunnel for Atlas. It was an older model, a _Bullhead_ -series that had long since been retired from military service proper, and had largely been replaced by the slender, predator-like _Condor_ -class.

The Bullhead VTOL had been in service for decades—it was a sturdy, reliable workhorse. Too stubborn to just go away when its time had come—it still remained in service with organizations like the Vale Kingdom Security Bureau and even some civilian agencies in Atlas. Too old to keep around, but too reliable to get rid of.

 _Heh. That story sounds a bit familiar._ Pietro smiled a little at his little joke.

The jolly old man shuffled off of his immobile mechanical chair and limped forward to the cockpit. From behind the pilot's chair all he could really see was a dimly lit cave tunnel—and an endless sea of aircar traffic and VTOLs floating through the darkness.

He angled his head towards his pilot, a pretty stolid human man far younger than he was. "Pilot? How are we doing?" 

The pilot turned his face around, facing Pietro briefly. The helmet that the pilot wore covered his entire face, though Pietro could see an ebony complexion from the small section that was left uncovered. This glimpse was fleeting though, as the young man quickly turned back around.

"IFR Plan is by the book—we should arrive at the Academy in 5 minutes."

"Good, good."

"Shall I announce your arrival on the Atlas Network, sir?"

Pietro clapped a supportive hand on the young man's shoulder, perhaps a little too roughly.

"Not today, my boy. Today I think I'll actually _fly under the radar_ ."

The two men chuckled softly at the poor joke—the older man a little louder and more hearty than the younger, who seemed more to laugh to humor the professor more than anything else.

The old man sauntered off to the back, and groaned his way back into his chair. His thoughts were then occupied again by that young girl he had met yesterday—that strange, dithering, regal-seeming girl who he currently had holed up in his apartment. 

Pietro almost hoped that the girl was who she said she was. But if he was being honest, the possibility and the ramifications terrified him.

_If she is telling the truth, I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, refusing to hear her words on the future. What if there is some great calamity coming? What if we can't stop it?_

_What if we **could** stop it?_

His mind wandered elsewhere—to his human daughter. To her beautiful brown hair and her blue eyes. 

_Ada— Hmm, Penny._

Some people condemned him for making Penny. Said that he was just grieving and trying to replace the daughter he'd lost. They were right, of course, but the truth was that he didn't see Penny as a replacement—she was her own girl, with her own views and her own beauty. He saw her as his second daughter, not a replacement for his first.

That was something a great many could not understand—in particular one man, who, well—

Pietro had no idea where Arthur was now; that was probably for the best. Most people think he died, but Pietro knew better.

In Remnant, the dead had a habit of not staying that way.

Pietro's thoughts were drawn back to the present. His Wayward Watcher asked a great deal about the Vytal Festival, and he was worried that whatever she thought was about to happen would happen there. Penny was on the other side of the planet, in Vale—with her friends. He almost wanted to pull her out, bring her home—to safety. But if this Watcher was wrong, he'd be taking her away from her friends. 

Being a parent is never easy, especially when you foresee danger.

_No, she has to be wrong. Atlas has 1/4 of her military there. Nothing can go wrong._

He didn't really believe it, but he tried to.

Pietro looked to his left, out the cockpit window again. The airship had just breached into the blue skies of Atlas—he could tell, for they had stopped being surrounded by stone—and now was surrounded by steel and glass. His pilot deftly navigated his way through the artificial jungle with practiced precision.

The old man stared down at the leather satchel that was wedged between his armrest and his hip. As promised, he'd taken her gun and her ammunition with him—and she had also given him some nonessential, simple electronics to pick apart too.

_Well, Miss Sarah, let's have a look at you._

☾◯☽

Down in Mantle, Pietro's apartment above the pharmacy was still in shambles. The couch was upended, papers had been blown everywhere, and the source of the explosion, Pietro's 'wayward watcher' was just starting to sit upright. She blinked and took stock of herself. 

Her favorite hoodie was mostly untouched, as well as the plain t-shirt she wore underneath. She didn't feel any pain anywhere. 

"That was just an accident, a misfire, I think."

She shook her head and her dark bangs _almost_ fell back into place. The raven-haired woman sighed, then quickly bolted to her legs. She looked around at the apartment, surveying the destruction. 

"Pietro's gonna be so mad."

She bit her lip, then knelt down and picked up one of the many sheets on the ground. Honestly, she was surprised that in a world filled with Hard Light and advanced technologies, that _anyone_ would be keeping old fashioned paper copies around.

> January 10th, Year 197 of the 12th Era
> 
> Professor,
> 
> While we understand the potential scientific benefits of your proposal, the Atlesian Defense Commission is not willing to grant funding to a project not suitable for military purposes in any way. The potential benefits of a costly, learning AI capable of producing its own Aura can be easily reproduced with a squadron of cheap, effective Atlesian Knights, or a well-trained Huntsman or Huntress, both of whom Atlas has in abundance. As your program potentially calls for several billion Lien in funding _initially_ , plus another billion per year _at least_ , we have decided to reject your proposal in favor of Dr. Watts'—

_Hold on,_ **_what?_ **

Sarah mournfully lowered the memo. 'Atlesian Defense Commission'? Penny being rejected in the planning stages? None of this made any sense. Her head spun with the possibilities. While it was easy to assume at first that she shouldn't accept what she saw on the show at face value, it was another thing to be presented with the reality—mystery and intrigue. She swept her hair back, and then set the piece of paper aside.

She set to work picking up other papers, stacking them up on that mystery communique. Eventually she'd set the couch upright. About 30 minutes later, the girl had efficiently tidied up the apartment - and doubted the old man would notice anything being awry. She smarmily grinned and shrugged.

"What Pietro doesn't know can't hurt him, after all—"

Sarah stopped mid-sentence.

_No, it's exactly what Pietro doesn't know that can hurt him._

_And it will._

Sarah's lip quivered as her eyes angled to the floor. Her heart raced and her body shook. It wasn't just Pietro's imminent tragedy that was consuming her; it was her own tragedy. Her family, friends, everybody she cared about and wanted to protect… Even if she was unwed, she still had people that _mattered_ to her.

People that were now lost to her, maybe forever. At the very least, their lives go on while she's missing. Some would mourn her, all would move on. If she didn't know how she got here, or even how she could get home—

In the silence of the apartment, Sarah clenched her fist, bowed over and screamed with all the force she could muster.

☾◯☽

She knelt on the floor of the guest bedroom, her bangs and hair horribly disheveled and her shoulders slumped. Her hoodie was thrown beside her, and her hands were shaking. Her eyes were red and her breathing was shallow.

She was surrounded by papers—the same old papers that Pietro had left all around the apartment. Her pursuit of this curiosity was maddening. An endless litany of words, telling her a different story every time but to the same end - showing her a world expanded before her. 

The barely composed girl turned to the left, picking up another leaf. 

_Intellectualization. My favorite coping mechanism._

"I've always said that history's a teacher of lessons learned." She bit her lip pensively. "So then, Remnant—let's have a look at you."

Her mind was drawn to the broken down Scroll that Pietro had left her—it was currently resting on the small bed in the room she was in, inactive. She thought of the job leads, the frequencies on it.

Sarah set the paper down, then put her hands back onto her knees. The girl's chest moved gently as she tweaked her breathing to relax her racing heart.

_Pietro won't be back for some time. I need answers._

She put her hands together in a triangular shape over the lower half of her belly, just above her groin, laying them gently on her knees in her own unique meditation pose.

_Think, girl. Refer to your Code._

Once, she wrote down nine important rules that she would never break unless she had a very good reason to. The first three were rather simple - first, protect yourself and your family. Always act in the best interests of life. Never lie, cheat or manipulate. 

That third rule, she had come dangerously close to breaking multiple times over the last few days, and it had shown no sign of getting any easier. The upside of living by your own laws, though, was that you could creatively interpret them if necessary, but laws are not laws if they are followed only when it's convenient.

The very last rule, the ninth, was probably the most important of all.

_Always act as an agent of truth._

While superficially identical to the third rule, it was very different in intent. At least to her, it implied the existence of an 'absolute truth'. An unobtainable one - but one worth seeking out anyway. To her, to act as an agent of truth is to seek wisdom and knowledge in equal measure.

In less flowery terms, she was an unabashed nerd and _really_ overbearing about it.

Sarah opened her eyes, then glanced over at the Scroll lying on her bed.

"Money can wait. I need to know more about this world." She glanced down at the papers scattered around her. "This is a good start, but only a fraction of the picture I need."

"I need"—Sarah narrowed her eyes, glanced aside and bit her lip—"a history book. Or like, _ten_."

 _Of course, that means going out during the_ **_day._ **

☾◯☽

The sun was about to give way to the night, so the Bullhead's pilot turned on its navigation lights as it rose through the city. Pietro saw a billboard for Schnee~Cola float by the window. The Schnee name wasn't just on Dust mining and manufacturing - though the family themselves only owned the Schnee Dust Company, their forebears had used their money to start many other ventures, though they had long since been sold off to new owners.

After a short while, the view changed - they had reached the epicenter of the city. In their way, surrounded by four smaller spires, was a massive skyscraper reaching higher than any other building in Atlas. At its base were a huge number of landing pads and support facilities. The facility itself also extended downward, into the rock that Atlas herself rested on.

This was Atlas Academy, the most well-funded Huntsman Academy in Remnant - and the site of Pietro's employment. 

"Taking us in, now, sir."

"Good, good."

"Yes, this is mike-sigma-tango, charlie one-six requesting clearance for landing pad—" 

Pietro tuned out the rest of the conversation between the pilot and the control center.

☾◯☽

A few moments later, the Bullhead was decelerating onto the platform. A sudden shudder told Pietro that the ship had finally touched down. He manipulated the controls on his chair, and the mechanical legs twitched back into life, the safety setting now disabled.

The pilot flicked a few analogue switches off, and Pietro could hear the engines slowly winding down. 

"Take care, sir." The pilot stood up and pulled a hydraulic lever, which opened the rear bay to Atlas. "This is the last transport of the night, so you'll probably be stuck up here 'til morning unless you come straight back."

_Not a problem. I already told Sarah that was a possibility, and told her what to make for her dinner._

"Good to know. Well, until we meet again, flyboy."

Pietro started making his way out of the transport, but paused just before he hit the landing ramp.

"Er, what was your name, again? Memory isn't so good with just the lower half of faces, you see." The tanned old man tapped his head snarkily.

"Jenkins, sir. Ensign Jimmy Jenkins."

"Pleasure, Ensign. Take care, now."

Pietro waved at the pilot as his chair guided him down the ramp. Once he'd reached the end, he was met with a familiar face - a middle-aged, dark-skinned woman with short brown hair tied up in a ponytail, and straight side-bangs framing her face. She wore thick-rimmed glasses, and from where he was, Pietro could see small blue motes dancing across their lenses.

He recognized the data-glasses' owner immediately.

"This surface transport sixteen? You're a little lat—"

"Evening, Doctor Redding."

"Ah, evening, Pietro! Come to break bread with the 'stuffy elite'? I hear there's an official dinner going on between the council members and the SDC in an hour or so."

"Not exactly, Allie. Personal matter."

"Oh, fair enough. I was just about to head home for the night. How's Penny?"

"She's, well—still in Vale. Excited for the festival, though rather nervous too—you know how she can be."

"That I do. She's grown to be quite the remarkable fighter, I'm sure you're very proud."

Pietro smiled. "Every day, Allie. Every day. Oh, I can only barely hear a twinge of that old Eurb accent of yours."

"How flattering! Though you do remember that I moved here from Vacuo almost 10 years ago, don't you?"

"Has it been that long? Sorry for that—memory's not quite what it used to be."

"Mmhm." Allie said, unconvinced.

Pietro just gave her a warm smile in return. 

"Well, I should get back to it." Dr. Redding stepped onto the transport, tapping Pietro's shoulder on the way. "Don't work too late, Pietro."

"The mysteries of the universe wait for no one, Allie." He willed his mechanical chair forward, stepping out onto the bridge between the pad and the academy.

_In fact, they seem to have the unfortunate habit of seeking me out._

☾◯☽

Sarah closed the back door to the pharmacy behind her and stepped out into Mantle. The woman then palmed her hoodie's pocket, double-checking that the spare key Pietro had left was still tucked away.

Since the time she'd drawn her conclusion and decided to investigate the history of Remnant, she'd put her hair up into a tight ponytail and put her warm hoodie back on, more than prepared for the blistering wind that Atlas was notable for.

She stood idle for a moment out on the sidewalk, watching the people of Mantle go about their business. Across the street, a vendor was shouting endorsements for their wares. Sarah couldn't tell from where she stood exactly what he was peddling. Men, women and children walked from place to place. 

The lost girl idly set off in no particular direction. She saw advertisements for various corporations - including one interesting one, advertising an ice-themed soda called 'Schnee~Cola'. 

_Didn't know the Schnees didn't just do Dust, but eh, guess you learn something new every day._

She rounded a corner, going to the front door of the pharmacy - long since secured by Pietro himself. In this area the foot traffic slowed, but the street she was on was a side avenue just off of one of the largest streets in Mantle, so the hovercar traffic increased a bit. Floating trucks and passenger cars filed through the street at a slow pace, finding their way to parts unknown with a surprising grace.

The girl kept walking towards the outskirts of the city, having finally finally decided on where she would start her journey.

☾◯☽

The inner section of the battered metal wall separating Mantle from the dangerous and cold tundra was cramped at the very least - but it seems the Guardsmen working the wall had made the best of the space, using it as improvised shelter and even storage. 

Sarah was currently seated on a cardboard box, filled with practically ancient requisition forms and random trinkets from an office long since shut down. Ash Edern, the auburn-skinned soldier she'd met when she entered Mantle, was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed.

The boy removed his helmet to talk to Sarah, and she could see the family resemblance most strikingly. His brown hair was short and closely-cut to his head, and his blue eyes gave the impression of a heroic warmth that put the vulnerable woman at ease.

"So, what is it you need to find this time, Sarah?"

"A library."

The young Ederne cocked an eyebrow at Sarah's strange request. "A library?" 

The dark-haired girl just nodded quietly in response.

Ash scratched the back of his head. "Well, dunno why'd you wanna go there - nothing but stuffy old people and long books. You ask me, experience is the better teacher. Learned an awful lot more working the wall than I could in any classroom.

"And I don't disagree, but when experience isn't something that a person has, books are at the very least a good starting point."

"Fair enough." Ash was quiet for a brief moment. "Don't you have a Scroll, Sarah?"

"No, I'm, ah"—Sarah bit her lip—"Still getting back on my feet."

"Hm, fair enough. I'd offer to loan you my own, but it's military issue, and my C.O. would have my neck for it."

"Wouldn't want that at all." Sarah leaned back onto the box, depressing it a little more with her weight.

"Look, all I need is like, a direction to go in and the name of the library. I can ask for specifics on the way."

"Alright."

Ash reached into his pocket and pulled out his Scroll. He tapped a few buttons on the screen, pulling up a map function and then a search box.

"Closest one is the Alsius Branch Library. Used to be the main library for the Academy, back when the Academy was called, well, Alsius."

_I don't remember anything about that, but I'm just gonna roll with it._

"Where is it?"

"About a mile north from the wall. Take a right once you get back to Pietro's, then go two blocks straight. Hang a left and keep going until you reach the Old Academy Plaza."

Sarah pushed her way up from the box and adjusted her hoodie back into place. "Appreciate it, Edern. I'm really quite sorry for having to ask for your help again."

"It's alright. I did say that if you needed anything or ran into trouble, to come find me. Always here to help out a lady in need."

The young soldier feigned a chivalrous bow and held it for a bit longer than was required. He came up from the bow and smiled at Sarah.

Sarah looked aside for a moment, then returned the smile.

"You're very kind, Private Ederne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, mostly enforced for personal reasons.  
> I've been really struggling with HRT-related instability and found it hard to finish this.  
> In the end, it was looking to become longer than I'd like, so I decided to split it into two parts.  
> Don't worry, I'm not going to switch to a third-person perspective for the rest of the story; just for a few parts that necessitate it - generally, the story will be exclusively told from the protagonist's perspective.
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and warm against the Covid-19 outbreak; social upheaval takes a toll on all of us - as Sarah is about to find out too, though in a very different context.
> 
>  **Post-Release Author's Notes**  
>  So, Ash is actually based on a single, tanned-skin one-note Huntsman that had a blink-and-you-miss-it cameo in V7E3: Ace Operatives. Even if this story is centered around Sarah, future entries of her story will put him into a deuteragonist role, alongside Penny. Jimmy Jenkins is the memetic "pilot boi" that gets killed off by Tyrian in that same volume. Yeah. I like pulling from background characters, explaining how they got there. They're still functionally OCs, but


	5. Restless, Part 2

About ten minutes after she'd left Ash and the wall behind, Sarah found herself standing in front of a building that wouldn't look out of place in most old European cities, with its Victorian-standard architecture, and block letter text engravings.

Far above her, the stone brickwork held the inscription 'Alsius Library'. The stone underneath had been seemingly covered up by a blank sheet metal plate.

_Perhaps there was another inscription that the new owners wanted to not be displayed publicly?_

In the back of her mind, the idea conjured up visions of what she read about in a history book once—the 'denazification' of Post-World War 2 Germany. She pushed the thought aside and started walking up the granite steps, skipping one or two every once in a while.

☾◯☽

When Sarah pushed through the glass doors—that had very clearly been added long after the building's construction—she was greeted with an ornately carved, warmly lit interior. The center of the room held a wooden desk, at which a girl with two grey horns spiraling out of her head sat, typing away at a computer interface that was clearly much newer than the room surrounding her.

The raven-haired girl idly glanced to her left. She saw a hallway lined with a small number of book carts, holding ones that were either for check-in or for sale.

The ram Faunus briefly glanced up from her terminal. "Let me know if you need anything, sweetie?"

Sarah nodded and continued to glance around the room.

" _Parlez-vous Valois?_ "

"Uh, no. I speak, erhm, the language here."

"Atlesian? Old or modern?"

Sarah's eye idly twitched.

_Clearly there is way more to this world than I thought there was._

For a moment, the studious woman felt vindicated in her decision to make one of her first actions in this brave new world be 'hitting the books'.

The still-seated assistant smiled and leaned back in her chair cheekily.

"I'm just joking, hun! Most people don't even know about the Old Atlesian language, well, I guess back when it was spoken more, people called it High Mantlean."

_Oh, thank the void._

The ram girl leaned forward, then started dangling a pen in a sort of bored fashion.

"So what can I help you with, sweetie?"

"Mmh, uhm. I don't have a library card, but there's some things I need to look up for a while. Is that okay?"

"Mmhmm! Long as you don't want to check anything out. You don't need a library card for just reading books, hun. If you want to use the terminals I can issue you a guest pass, but having a card is mostly for just checking books out."

"Ah, thank you. One more question?"

"Sure."

Sarah put a fist against her hip and stretched her other hand into the air. 

"Can you help me find the history section?"

☾◯☽

In a lonely hallway, far above both Mantle and Atlas, Pietro's mechanical chair whirred and clanked its way through the sterile interior. Apart from the occasional AK robot standing guard, Pietro was the only person present. Everyone else had gone home for the day, or were sequestered in their offices, burning the midnight oil like he himself was about to do.

Pietro came to a set of doors, then rotated to face the one that was on his right. The old man patted the pocket on his red vest, then slipped his hand in. A moment later, his calloused hands withdrew a simple identification card. 

He grunted, leaned forward, and laid the card against a reader on the side of the door. In response, the device issued two beeps and the door slid into the wall, allowing him through.

☾◯☽

"Well, I said we'd have a look at you, so let's get this done."

Now inside his laboratory, Pietro manipulated the controls on the gun gently, trying to remember how the girl ejected the magazine. No small effort, considering his large hands. The weapon was not designed for somebody his size to wield, clearly.

"Confounded thing." Pietro grunted.

After almost 30 seconds of fiddling, the old man found the latch on the side that released the magazine, which popped out with a sharp click. He dragged it out the rest of the way, then laid it down on his workbench.

Following this, he deftly pulled the slide back and visually checked if there was a round chambered. Just to be safe, he wriggled his gargantuan pinkie finger inside, feeling for the barrel's breech.

It wasn't really all that different from Remnant Dust-actions.

"Definitely convergent technological development. As for how and why, hm."

In Pietro's large, hairy hands, he palmed the small pistol back and forth, occasionally looking down its sights with it pointed at a nearby bulletproof surface. Eventually, he relaxed his grip and sighed, reading the text on the side of the weapon.

> MADE IN AUSTRIA
> 
> GLOCK, INC., SMYRNA, GA

_If this was a fake, it's an awful convincing one._

"AURA, open new project file, my eyes only. Level ten encryption. High security mode active. Classification level—Above Top Secret, my eyes only."

A synthetic female voice replied from a speaker above him.

_"Confirmed. File opened, encryption protocols engaged. Room audio and comm gap initiated, sealing physical blockades. Shall I store this on the Academy servers, sir?"_

The lighting in the laboratory dimmed slightly. Behind him, metal shutters slid down over the windows, preventing anyone outside of his laboratory from looking in. To his side, the main door's LED panels turned from green to red, and the window polarized, blacking out all vision of the lab. 

Under most circumstances, he wouldn't be using such secure methods, but this was not _most_ circumstances.

"No, I don't know who I can trust with this information. Transmit everything down to my server in Mantle, for now - along highsec priority channel."

_"Acknowledged. Please specify channel code."_

"Which ones are available?"

_"Alpha three-zero-four, alpha two-one-one, alpha six-four-zero, alpha one-one-three —"_

"Stop. Alpha one-one-three will do just fine."

_"Confirmed."_

"AURA, begin recording a project journal."

_"Recording, Doctor."_

Pietro removed his glasses and rubbed his temples, then began speaking.

"Remnant is not ready. The item I'm holding in my hands seems similar in many respects to a standard Atlesian holdout sidearm, but slightly different in many respects. For one- AURA, pause recording."

_"Recording paused."_

At this, Pietro pulled himself away from his workbench, then stepped over a few feet, landing in front of a square device with a simple glowing grid pattern on it. Pietro placed the weapon on the surface, then tapped a few buttons on it.

"AURA, initiate full scan of the device. I want to know everything, down to the tiniest micron. Composition, construction, radiation-- I want magnetic analysis, spectrometric sampling, and cross-referencing of the words and numbers on it with the Atlesian Codex. Throw in some thaumic resonance scans too."

_"Acknowledged, Professor. Estimated time to completion: 4.25 hours."_

"Warm up a few chemical analyzers as well, we've got some propellants to identify."

_"Initiating exothaumic resonator startup seq—"_

"Halt. Not those, AURA."

_"Please specify propellant composition, then."_

"Fundamental. We're dealing with fundamental elements, not thaumic materia."

_"I see. Initializing multimodal spectrometers. Mount and install samples when ready."_

☾◯☽

There was something meditative in research. Sarah always appreciated learning things, and being in a world she knew functionally nothing about meant that there was no shortage of topics to study on. The tome she was presently poring over was one entitled _Founding of the New World Order: A Retrospective on the Vytal Treaties_. The long bangs on the sides of her face drooped forward, almost touching the paper.

> In Year 123.12, the remaining leaders of Mantle and Mistral came to the negotiating table on the then-neutral ground, Vytal Island, to meet the leaders of Vacuo and Vale. While initially an informal meeting, diplomatic ties were eventually strengthened and rebuilt to the point that all parties involved moved to begin negotiations to end the greatest conflict Remnant had ever known.
> 
> In Mantle, the downfall of the Nationalist Faction was met with a resurgence in libertarian philosophy. While multiple subfactions vied for control of the new nominally democratic government, the 'doves' of Vale won important seats on the—

Sarah stopped reading, though not for reason of boredom. The raven-haired girl felt a little warm, so she unzipped her purple hoodie, and pulled it off of herself. Underneath, a black short-sleeve t-shirt was revealed.

Dangling outwards from her neck was a long, black-beaded necklace almost vaguely resembling a Catholic Rosary, but with thicker and more sturdy beads, like a Mala. Instead of the Cross or a tied rope, the holy icon at the end of the necklace was a moonstone crystal, shaped into a crescent, which was embedded into a round and comparatively plain silver disk.

Both silver and crystal glimmered in the warm light of the library. Its presence was as comforting to the dark maiden as any of her weapons, if not moreso.

Sarah stood up, pushing away from the wooden table and the many tomes she had been reading that night. Her amulet came with her, its weight gently thumping against her breast as she strode over to a nearby window.

She beheld the crescent shape in her hands, remembering the way the moon on her homeworld looked on the clearest, most beautiful of nights. She then looked up into the night sky of Remnant.

Reflected in her eyes was a moon that did not match the one hanging around her neck. It was broken, shattered - great chunks of it floated away, and none of it had anything resembling a "dark" section. 

Sarah frowned. It was just another reminder of how far from home she was.

Sarah gently drew her thumb across the surface of the moonstone amulet, then clasped her entire hand around it and closed her eyes.

"I find myself adrift in a strange land, and willingly seek a stranger's embrace. By the grace of the sacred darkness, I release my burdens to you, and pray for your companionship on this night and every night forward. Journey with me, and guard me, as I did with your sister in my old life."

As Sarah said the words, she felt a comforting warmth envelop her. When she opened her eyes and looked down again, she saw her body enveloped in a faint shimmer. It wasn't like the great burst of energy before -- a soft, controlled energy. 

As quickly as it came, it faded.

The dark girl cursed under her breath, mourning that her Aura had slipped away yet again. She was slowly starting to understand how it worked, at least.

Sarah glanced back up into the night sky. She couldn't _quite_ place her finger on it, but it seemed one of the stars was just a little bit brighter than it was before. 

_Probably just a trick of the eye._ _I mean, I had my eyes closed for a while._

The short prayer completed, Sarah stepped away from the window. She slid back into her reading chair, and her amulet tapped clumsily against the wooden reading table. 

_This is going to be a long night..._

☾◯☽

_"And then one of the Beacon boys showed up in a dress... And then their team started dancing! These humans are exceptionally strange, father. But it was most joyful!"_

Pietro actually let out a small smile. It was always nice to see his daughter's green eyes, especially when she was so far away. The bulk of his terminal's center monitor was taken by Penny's pale face that he'd seen so many times before, but every time was like a new surge of love for his creation and daughter. The monitor to the right of him primarily held a progress bar, with the window's title 'COLLATING DATA, PLEASE WAIT' telling the old scientist that the scan of Sarah's weapon had completed, and that AURA was currently processing the data.

"Hmm... And nobody knows the truth about you?"

 _"Nope!"_ Penny's chipper expression almost never faded. 

"Good, good..." The old man's tone could almost be read as disinterest.

Pietro glanced over at the right-hand monitor. In the brief time he was distracted by the bar, it ticked up from 98% to 99% complete.

_"Father, is everything alright? Voice analysis shows you're expressing a hint of disinterest in my story."_

Pietro turned back to the monitor and smirked reassuringly. 

"No, no. Just, ah, quite a lot of work to be done. Fair amount of things on my mind. You know how it is. I'm glad you're enjoying your time at Beacon, darling."

_"I am! I truly, truly— Oh, sorry! I must go, father! Ciel was thinking of going to the knoll to watch the fireworks!"_

"Fireworks?"

_"Yes! It's the last event of the night! Must go!"_

Pietro huffed amusedly when the link was abruptly cut. 

_Ah, that girl... Always something to do, somebody to talk to. I'm glad she's making friends, though._

AURA's tinny voice came in from the terminal.

_"Now that you have a moment, Professor."_

"Yes, yes. Ready?"

_"Yes, sir."_

"Central hologram table."

Pietro pulled his mechanical chair away from his workbench, turned himself around, and then got up off of it. He strained and grunted as he pulled himself off of it. 

The old man didn't necessarily _need_ to get up to use the table \- he just wanted to, while he still could. As much Aura as he's given to resurrect Penny time and time again, he still had just enough left to stand.

Finally, he found his way out of his chair, and limped his way over to a white, circular table in the center of the room. He laid his massive hands on the side of the table as if bracing himself against it.

"Mmh... Let's see it, then."

The table lit up in a 3D wireframe model of Sarah's weapon. Every detail, down to the tiniest molecule had been scanned.

_"Weapon is a composite of multiple materials. A plastic composite not matching standard Atlesian materials used in similar parts is primarily found in the lower section of the firearm. It is rigid and appears to have been molded in a single piece."_

"No metals?"

The hologram then separated into a number of separate parts. Instinctively, Pietro identified the hammer, slide, and many other internal components. It really wasn't that different.

_"Incorrect. The internal components, as well as the receiver section, are all manufactured from varying types of steel alloys."_

The firearm's slide and internals were highlighted in red as AURA discussed it.

"Cross reference with Dust-action pistols of similar classification and caliber. Highlight primary mechanical differences."

_"One discrepancy found. Tungsten rod, mechanically linked with the hammer."_

The firing pin of the weapon was then highlighted in green, with the hammer itself highlighted in red.

Pietro pushed away from the table and placed an inquisitive hand on his chin.

"Interesting... I wonder if it has something to do with how the weapon fires. In the absence of Dust and Aura, a chemical reaction _would_ be needed to ignite the nitrate compounds that we found inside those bullets."

_"Scans of the individual cartridges provided indicated the presence of a high-reactivity chemical compound located within the base, in a self-contained alloy capsule. The theory is not without merit."_

"Talk to me about those steel alloys you mentioned, AURA."

A dizzying number of flat boxes opened near the firearm, with arrows pointing to multiple pieces. To start with, Pietro's eyes followed the line going from the slide out to its associated box.

> CHEMICAL COMPOSITION
> 
> Sample Reliability Index: 76%
> 
> Margin of Error: +0.0075%/-0.0062%
> 
> General Classification: Carbonized Steel Alloy
> 
> Makeup, Percent Per Gram:
> 
> -> 97.2475% Iron
> 
> -> 0.2331% Carbon 
> 
> -> 0.2464% Phosphorous Sulfide
> 
> -> 0.4679% Nickel
> 
> -> 0.5581% Chromium
> 
> -> 0.2964% Silicon
> 
> -> 0.9498% Unidentified Elements

_Got you._

The scientist pointed at the last line on the chart.

"AURA — 'Unidentified Elements'? Clarify."

_"There is a minority of compounds within the alloy that do not match any known elements. Preliminary mass spectrometry indicates they may belong to a number of theorized 'gap elements' within our own elemental table."_

"Interesting... most interesting. A world with different elements? Or one that just knows of more than us?"

_"There is as yet insufficient data for a meaningful answer, Doctor."_

"Yes, yes. It was rhetorical, AURA. Send all data back down to my Mantle server. Erase primary, secondary, and tertiary backups."

_"Data erased. Shall I exit high security mode?"_

"Yes. For now."

Pietro eyed a cot in the corner of his laboratory. 

"AURA, what time is the first transport back down to Mantle?"

_"Oh-seven-thirty, Doctor."_

"Wake me up at oh-seven, then."

_"Acknowledged, Doctor. Rest well."_

<I>

_Sarah dreamed._

_She dreamed of floating in an endless black abyss. She stared into it - her eyes finding purchase on nothing but the void itself._

_With what strange arcane light Sarah could find, she lifted up her hands to her face and saw they were horribly bloodied. She pulled out at her hoodie, and saw the same was true of it._

_The aloof woman grimaced when a twisted, masculine voice laughed in the darkness._

_"_ **_What do you know of monsters?_ **_"_

<I>

Sarah jolted upwards off of the ratty couch she'd opted to nap on, as she'd somehow found it suddenly impossible to sleep in the room Pietro had loaned her. Her heart raced and her head pounded in a mixture of anxiety and dehydration. The dim light of the morning shone through the windows, and she'd realized she had actually somehow slept all night.

Though she'd had a full night's rest, she had only one dream... and while it was short, it filled her with a terror unknowable.

_What do I know of monsters..._

☾◯☽

Eventually, Sarah had pulled herself off the couch and dragged herself across the apartment, back into the bedroom. She grunted as she pulled out her black leather purse from underneath the bed.

She started to dig though it purposefully.

A moment later, she'd found her prizes and withdrew three small objects—a tiny silver tin, co-opted from a package of breath mints, and two orange pill bottles—one marked marked 'Estradiol, 2mg', and the other, 'Progesterone, 200mg' These were the primary forces behind her transition, and a regimen she needed to continue, despite being relatively late in the game, as it were.

Sarah upturned both containers, pouring them into three separate piles on the bed cautiously, then counting when they fell.

Out of the orange bottle marked 'Estradiol', 40 small, oval, cyan-colored pills fell out. Out of the one marked 'Progesterone', she counted 26 of the yellowish capsules.

A meager 13 round, darker blue pills fell out of the steel tin. This was the other half of her hormone pills - the ones that suppressed the girl's testosterone levels. Her old world called it 'Finasteride'. 

The trans woman picked up one of the oval pills and tucked one between her cheek and her gum. As she coated it with saliva in her mouth and let it dissolve, she pondered her predicament.

_Two weeks._

That was going to be a problem, but at least she had some time to figure out an alternative, at least.

* * *

_When we encounter uncomfortable truths... our reaction alone speaks volumes as to who we are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think there is a line where describing the handling and details of a firearm becomes borderline fetishistic? I feel I've crossed that line a few times, at least.


	6. The Other Side, Part 1

_Have you ever looked into a mirror?_

_Seen your reflection and wondered..._

* * *

I still couldn't imagine it. For all intents and purposes, this world was as real to me as the one I'd left. Vast and mysterious, and every inch of it rendered in more detail than I could even begin to comprehend.

It didn't feel like I'd walked through a mirror. It felt like I'd just walked through a door, from one room into another.

It was difficult to put into words, I guess. 

I brushed the last of my Finasteride doses into the container, then put it back into my purse and slid it under my bed.

_If both sides are real as the other, can we really say if either are truly the 'other'?_

I smiled and shook my head at the pointless, nonsensical musing and drew the shades open, taking in the mid-day rays—or rather, what rays filtered through to my weary eyes, under the shadow of Atlas.

I wondered if I might find myself up there someday. In the same thought, I wondered what more there could be to discover down here.

I didn't leave much behind, honestly. In my own world. My cat was going to be well taken care of. I had friends, of course. My life was just starting to get back on track. But, there's something about this entire situation that feels more like a gift than a curse.

When you're transgender, you panic over who you can trust, who you can come out to. You worry about friends and family finding out how they might take it. People who knew you before. Having to deal with that, in addition to everything you're going through on the inside; well, it's no wonder why so many of us suffer from anxiety and depression.

Early on in my transition, I couldn't get away from the way I looked on the outside, even if I'd already changed on the inside. Even now, I don't even really feel a lot different. Things were missing, things that weren't right.

Back home, I could never escape my past. But here, in Remnant, as dangerous and terrible and doomed as it seems to be, I had a chance to be more than who I was. To cut off ties with a past I don't want anymore.

I could do anything, be anyone. Well, at least in theory. My situation was precarious at best. The truth could damn me, but a bad lie could do the same. 

"You have a habit of brooding a lot, don't you, Sarah?"

☾◯☽

I turned around from the window, facing the source of the voice. The broad, tanned man that, I suppose was basically my roommate now, had apparently silently maneuvered his chair into the guest bedroom and was now filling the entire doorway.

"Hey Doc. And yeah, I suppose I do. Not much else to do when you're waiting for someone else to decide of they believe you or not."

Pietro shifted in his chair idly, seemingly trying to put less pressure on his back.

"I can't imagine what you're going through, Sarah. Lost in another world?"

"I'm dealing with the emotions as they come. Nothing more I can do."

Pietro coughed, clearing something from his throat.

"Then you're either lying to yourself, _or more resilient than most_."

"I don't lie to myself. Not anymore."

I was quiet for a moment before I changed the subject.

"So. Good news, I hope?"

Pietro gently bobbed his head and lifted half his mouth into a semi-grimace. It was almost charming.

"Indeed. Well. Good for you, I suppose. For me, it just makes things _quite_ complicated.".

"It was already complicated for me. But, you believe me?"

"There's enough uncertainty, enough inconsistency, that a conventional explanation is impossible. There is the _theoretical_ possibility of a weapon being forged to match these strange specifications."

Pietro pulled my gear out from the satchel laying across his thigh and laid my pistol and the magazine onto the bed, then looked back at me, smiling.

"Precise identification of the elements was impossible without taking a sample, so, you may notice a few scratches in some places on the inside of the magazine well. I, ah, am sorry."

I glanced back at _La Petite Mort_ .

"Damn thing never saw any real action anyway." I looked back at Pietro and gently smiled, shaking my head. "Really, it's not a big deal. Can't even see it anyway."

"Hm, very well. Like I was saying, it could be a forgery, but for what purpose? And, then why would our soon-to-be fraudster come to me, the one person who could easily expose it as a hoax? Even then, there are certain details of your story that are simply impossible, or extremely difficult, to fake."

The old, tanned man walked his chair past me, over to the window. He looked out into the morning sun, seemingly contemplative as I was a moment before.

And he just chided me for brooding.

☾◯☽

"Many things can be gleaned in materials analysis. You can learn the history of an object, how it's been changed over the years. Where it came from. And an absence of information can be telling in and of itself."

I put a hand on my hip and leaned off to the side slightly. "So, you found an inconsistency."

Pietro was silent. He leaned over on his left armrest and sighed.

"One percent."

"I'm sorry?"  
  
"A less precise scanner would have missed it. A less experienced scientist would have labeled it as a scanning artifact, or the product of chemical impurity."

"So, the sample you took?"

Pietro crossed his arms, glancing between the gun on the bed and my eyes. "Two elements in that steel alloy used for most of the parts are Gap Elements—"

I cocked an intrigued eyebrow at 'Gap Elements'.

Pietro seemed to sense my confusion and opted to sate my curiosity.

"Despite having 400 years of the scientific method, and 50 years with geological scanners and advanced surveying techniques, our chemical and metallurgical sciences are rather—"

Pietro idly looked off to the side and shrugged. "Well, compared to your people, I wager, a tad _nascent_."

"Interesting. I always wondered how you people held your weapons together, though. Forgive me for saying, but Huntsmen weapons rarely seem particularly, ehm, _robust._ Or practical."

Pietro laughed heartily.

"Yes, hah. You see, much of what alloying we do is with Dust. Most weapons are crafted out of a compound we call, erhm, 'Huntsman Steel'. Anyway, the two unidentified elements had ... twenty-five protons, and, erhm..."

The old man tapped a few buttons on his chair's left control pad.

"Fourty-two. Either of those ring a bell, darling?"

I racked my mind, trying to remember what numbers on the periodic table back home were. Nothing came. 

"Sorry. I wasn't exactly a chemist. I memorized our periodic table in college, but that was another life."

Pietro sighed. "That's a mighty shame. I was hoping you would at least know what your people called them."

I walked over and placed a hand on the back of Pietro's chair. This surprised him, but I could see him relax a bit soon after.

"I mean, you just discovered two new elements, Doc. You get to name them, don't you?"

"Hm." Pietro cracked a small smile. "I suppose I could. _If_ I could tell anyone about you, that is."

Pietro backed away from the window. I let go of the chair and gave the massive contraption the room to maneuver. It turned around, and the old man riding in it looked me square in the eyes.

"Speaking of our shared predicament, Sarah—we've already talked about your past. Now, _let's talk about your future_."

☾◯☽

The uncharacteristic gravitas of Pietro's last statement caught me off-guard. I was expecting the worst, really. The two of us stood there—one the vulnerable scion of another world, and the other, an old scientist who held her fate in his hands—caught in an unspoken standoff. 

I narrowed my eyes and bit my lip pensively. 

Pietro just widened his eyes, then held his hands up defensively.

"Whoa, calm down, girl, I—"

I blinked. 

Then I noticed that, without knowing it, I had assumed an aggressive stance, with one leg placed behind the other. My fists were clenched and my body was tensed. It was the almost opposite of how I wanted to portray myself in any situation, much less this one. I relaxed, and did my best to present myself as not a threat.

"S— Sorry, Doc. I— I don't know what came over me. Stress, maybe. I don't mean to—"

Pietro grimaced, though his eyes remained soft. He closed them gently and exhaled.

"I imagine you've been through a lot. I'm willing to forgive some _nervous habits_. I do apologize for my rather _ominous_ tone, for the record."

I tasted blood. I put my hand up to my mouth and discovered I'd somehow bitten down so hard that I had split my lip open.

"I'll get you a tissue."

I wiped the excess blood off with a knuckle and started sucking on the bleeding lip to keep it contained. I took a few deep breaths through my nose, then put my hand in front of Pietro as he was going.

"No, it's fine."

The old man angled his eyes up at me.

"You sure?"

"I'll clean it up later. But, more to the point, the future. You don't owe me anything, I know that. But—"

"But as I said before, you're clearly in need; and any girl who comes to Atlas in need is a daughter of Atlas."

I said nothing, and walked over to the bed.

"So, and there's really no way to phrase this without sounding, eh, entitled, I guess, but may I stay here for now?"

"Of course. My daughter has her own room at Atlas Academy, and this is an unused guestroom."

He looked up to the ceiling, and pointed upwards at the unseen city above.

"And I almost never entertain down here, you see. As I said before, there are, erhm, precautions, as well. The previous arrangement stands, my girl. Though I imagine you'll want to try to find your way back home."

"I don't even know how I got here in the first place."

"Then perhaps, it is a mystery we could solve together with time."

I thought for a moment, wondered if this could be the start of some great quest where our two worlds came together, collaborated, maybe even traded. A cross-universe alliance, started by one idiot with a gun, and one chairbound old man.

I internally allowed myself to laugh, which registered on my stolid face as the briefest of smirks.

However, if I was being completely honest with myself, there was a _very real_ possibility that I would be trapped her for good. Remnant, as far as I knew, didn't have the kind of technology that could send me back.

And neither did my home world.

Nobody's looking for me, nobody's coming for me.

I covered my eyes and internally steeled myself against the inevitable flow of emotions that was coming.

☾◯☽

Once I'd collected myself, I looked back at Pietro.

"So, what's the deal?"

"That depends on you, really." Pietro took his half-rimmed glasses off and sighed.

"You could make a living here as best you can, living out the rest of your days in secret—watching the rest of us, and _never_ interfering."

"Hardly a particularly interesting option."

"But the safest."

The old man put his glasses back on and smiled at me. 

"Though a young woman of your stolid nature would not find it difficult to blend in with most people here. If you promise to keep your head down, I think we can find a more interesting, and perhaps more suitable arrangement."

I held my hands open in anticipation. "Can I get some details on it at least?"

"For now, you could be my assistant. It would be a fine cover story for you, and you'd get to travel between Atlas and Mantle with me. I can look into getting some identification forged for you, and even databases altered. For all intents and purposes, you could be... a recent Atlesian immigrant, come to stay with me, perhaps."

I looked down at the floor. 

"I'm guessing that this isn't exactly stringless."

"You're as astute as you are shockingly grim, my dear." Pietro shifted in his chair slightly. "Yes, I will say that the arrangement is largely to keep you—"

"On a short leash?"

"I wouldn't have put it _quite_ like that, but, more or less. It's for your own protection as well as ours. To ensure whatever _future knowledge_ you claim to have doesn't ... leak out, hmm?"

I nodded. "Fair enough."

"However"—his voice had taken on a far more serious intonation—"If you _slip up_ like you just did more, our arrangement will be on _thin ice._ I can't have a loose cannon around me, not with the kind of work I'm doing. You stay quiet, you stay free, you stay _alive_ , and we both get through this. Clear?"

I bit the other side of my lip, far gentler than I had before. Really, I was just grateful to have a roof over my head at this point. Being close to Pietro would be a little risky, but with his protection I figure I _could_ hide in plain sight.

But then, there isn't much I actually _know_ about Pietro.

I glanced my hazel eyes over at him, sizing the old man up; not as the character I knew, but as the man I saw before me.

Afterwards, I looked away from him, instead opting to stare at the floor. 

Instead of finding more reasons to mistrust, I had only seen a kindly old man. A man with a past, but a man whose heart was fundamentally genuine. His greying hair and chairbound nature told me he was far too old to pose a _physical_ threat to me.

While that left social and emotional threats, I didn't think him capable of either.

Perhaps the most important parts of the man sitting before me were his tender eyes and his warm smile. Both reminded me of my grandfather—much like him, I sensed that Dr. Polendina was stolid and perhaps a little broken, but underneath was a big heart.

All just confirmed what I already knew, that I'd be as safe in his hands that I was in the embrace of darkness.

"Clear as a cloudless night."

I looked back up, locking my hazel eyes with Pietro's brown ones.

"So, what's next?"

"Again, up to you. I need to make a trip back up to Atlas on the weekend."

At the mention of Atlas, I remembered what the librarian said about some of their books being taken to Atlas.

"Ah. Actually, I was wondering—"

I grimaced. I knew going up to Atlas wasn't exactly for everyone, so this was gonna come off really privileged, but I think he of all people would understand why I would be asking.

"You'd like to come with me, girl? Rather stuffy and boring up there, once you look past the glimmer and spectacle."

"Yes, and— no. I mean—"

Pietro shook his head in an increasingly less amused way. 

"Spit it out, Sarah."

I let out an extremely undignified whine. _Here we go._

"whileyouwereoutiwenttothealsiuslibraryandlreadatonaboutyourhistoryandyourscienceand—"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies for the long spacing between chapters.
> 
> This chapter had an awful lot to cover, so I opted to split it into two, so I could actually get all the scenes I wanted in, while not waiting 3 damn months betwene releases. Part 2 just has two more scenes for me to write, and I'll polish it up and yeet it out into the abyss soonish.
> 
> I'm also doing somewhat longer commentary now, cuz I have a lot of big wordy things to say and a surprising amount of development goes into my stories... as well as a lot of heart.
> 
>  **Elementary, My Dear Pietro**  
>  If you were curious ~~and didn't feel like Googling or Binging or DuckDuckGoing it~~ , the "missing" elements that supposedly don't exist in Remnant, or haven't been discovered yet, are Molybdenum and Manganese. In the real world, both are heavily used in steel alloying as stiffeners, anti-corrosion additives, etc. In the previous chapter, the exact chemical ratios are somewhere in the area used for gun metal. Admittedly, I fudged slightly.
> 
>  **"Huntsman Steel"**  
>  Huntsman Steel is admittedly a bit of a reach, and a bit of an ass pull on my part, but it's a sensible one, I think. I kept thinking, how could something like Crescent Rose or Yatsuhashi's frickin buster sword actually be carriable, much less swingable and fireable?
> 
> The answer is just magic Dust shenanigans, a thing already intrinsic to the setting. I reasoned that heavy and strong steel alloys, like gunmetal, could be made far lighter than they should be, when combined with Gravity Dust somehow. Combined with the super strength a well-trained Aura can grant one, and it explains most of the over-the-top craziness of the setting's weapons.
> 
> This idea is also used in [Gate to Eternity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513388/chapters/51278278), and as stated in the tags and description, the two share a universe.
> 
>  **Named Weapons**  
>  The character of Sarah is (obviously) extensively based on myself, and I tend to name my IRL weapons, computers, cars, whatever could be important to me. While I don't actually possess a Glock 19, I figured it would be reasonable for an alternate version of myself to carry as a backup weapon. As for the name itself, 'La Petite Mort' is a French saying which, literally translated means 'The Little Death'. 
> 
> Perhaps fittingly, it's colloquially used as a euphemism for orgasms.


	7. The Other Side, Part 2

Ah, the impassioned motor mouth of a complete dork.

It was almost ten minutes later before I'd allowed myself to breath again. Privately, I scolded myself a little for displaying my passion like that. I wasn't a girl that was entirely _forthright_ with her emotions, but sometimes even I let myself get carried away.

I didn't trust easy, either, but Pietro had won my trust _surprisingly_ quickly, so sides of me I normally held back seem to slip out easier.

Pietro smiled and laughed heartily.

"Well, now, you've been busy. Given free roam over Mantle, and an entire world that you've never experienced in person before—the first place you go is the damn _library_."

I crossed my arms. "Well, the person at the front desk was also pretty cute."

Pietro ended up matching my position, crossing his own arms.

"Hm. I've visited there a few times myself. Late night research, you know. Or sometimes just to clear my head. Books, they sometimes help clear out the old cogitator."

Pietro lifted a hairy hand, tapped his forehead and smiled cheekily.

"Anyway, far as I recall, the folk who work there are almost all Faunus."

I shrugged, though I was surprised at Pietro's tangent. "I don't judge."

"Nor do I, but out of curiosity, does your world have people like them?"

"Nope. But I'm not picky."

"And aren't a lot of those librarians girls?"

"Mmhm. One I met was."

"So you're, ah, gay? Not that it'd matter if you were, and I don't mean to pry—"

" _I'm not picky,"_ I repeated, a little sterner that time.

"Ah. Both."

" _All_."

I abruptly changed the subject. My sexuality wasn't something I wanted to get into detail with a man almost thrice my age, if not older.

"Anyway; Alsius, they were missing a lot of information I was actually very interested in."

"Oh, what manner of information?"

"Admittedly, mostly just the history of the Huntsman order and maybe some weapon tech. I mean, there's just so much, I didn't really know where to start."

"Ah, a voracious consumer of knowledge, then?"

"Consumer, yes. Retainer—that's a _little_ iffier."

"Fair enough, my dear girl, fair enough. Anyway, most of those books were taken up to Atlas Academy. Bit of a headache, really, because often I've had to wait for some materials-- Well, I dare say, girl... I do believe I understand what you're asking now!"

Pietro rested his hand on his chin pensively.

"Don't know if you knew this, but Atlas Library is only restricted to Huntsman exclusively during the week. On the weekends, civilians are free to browse most materials in the library, barring some restricted sections in the rotunda. Though, checking anything _out_ requires a Huntsman License or special permission from the headmaster. Most of the books taken from Alsius during the move are publicly accessible. If you like—"

My eyes widened and for the first time since entering this world, I actually _grinned_ like an excitable puppy.

☾◯☽

The rest of the week was fairly uneventful. There was a lot of things I didn't know yet so, for now my role as 'assistant' more or less boiled down to just tidying the apartment up. 

Once I figured out the stove, I tried my hand at cooking some meals, though upon finding out Pietro had medical issues and was on a restricted diet, I set aside most of my ...

Delightfully _American_ and very unhealthy recipes. Instead, I stuck to simple salads and pastas until I could recall or learn some healthier ones.

I like to think the old man actually appreciated having some company, especially given his daughter was currently halfway across the planet. He didn't speak much about his past, but that suited me alright.

We all have our baggage to carry, I didn't pry.

But, despite the age gap between us, I found an odd kinship with the chairbound inventor. Maybe it was the fact that he reminded me so much of my grandfather, who I wished I knew better before he passed away, but I very much enjoyed being in his presence, letting down more and more of my guard as time went on.

We each agreed to not speak of things to come. Instead, Pietro would tell me stories of the past, and of the present. It was incredible, really. 

History books can be rather dry, but hearing someone talk about their world, that was practically enthralling to me.

And the old man seemed to enjoy having someone who knew almost nothing about Remnant to teach it to. He was patient, and kind with me, even if a lot of the details escaped him. He told me some old legends, stories of great heroes -- some of which I'd heard before, but a few others were entirely new. He told me of how Mantle and Atlas came to be, of the early years of strife and the deadly battle for survival.

I listened in awe as I heard him tell the story of him watching the city rise out of the ground as a young boy, and how much that inspired him to become an inventor.

In return, I told him stories of my world, of the many beautiful cultures and faiths that dotted the globe. I told him of the wondrous things we built, the continents and the people. I told him of the rituals of Mahayana Buddhism, Easter mass in St. Peter's Square.

I told him of the vast oceans, all the creatures that I could remember, though I wasn't a zoologist, so what I could tell him of was pretty much just a National Geographic 'greatest hits' reel.

Other topics I knew more about—I told him of the towering spires of the Burj Khalifa and in the same breath, marveled openly at how everything we built back home could hardly compare to something like a flying city.

When it came to Atlas herself, he was oddly conflicted about it. He respected it as a symbol of hope, and a great feat of engineering, but there was a mote of dissolution in his voice when the topic turned towards the _people_ of Atlas.

I guess I understood part of the reason why. He was a kindhearted man, and Atlas seemed cold and separated from the very real problems of the city below.

The two of us actually had the beginnings of an odd, but somewhat hopeful friendship, by the end of the week. There was still a lot of awkwardness, a lot of things left unsaid, but at least there wasn't another _slip up_ like I had before.

The tension from _that_ had passed. At least now, we were starting to learn more about each other.

I never once outright lied to Pietro, but there were a lot of things I wished I could have been more forthright about.

☾◯☽

That Saturday morning proceeded much like the few mornings in Remnant I'd lived through before. I used the restroom, took my pills, took care of my hygiene, but today I noticed something that had somehow escaped my perception on all the days prior. My body didn't look right. It didn't feel the same as I thought it was.

Despite not having shaven since arriving, I stared in the mirror at a clean face that had very little of my masculine facial hair remaining. My chest was no less broad than it was when I'd started, but my breasts were _fairly_ sizeable. I mean, obviously nothing to shake a speedloader at. They were maybe C or D cups.

Thing is, I didn't remember having anything above A or B, before arriving here.

I poked at my fairly smooth belly, and the firmness told me that there was so much muscle underneath. Far more than I remembered having. My arms, legs, all repeated the same pattern. Each held a sort of soft reserve of strength that could I could only have reached through a year or so of constant exercise.

 _It_ **_was_ ** _something I was planning to do._

It was _my_ body, but as I hoped it would be, when all was said and done with my transition. I kind of wondered why I was almost instantly gendered correctly, even by Pietro... this explained why.

Yet it didn't feel like an instantaneous change, for all my clothes I'd brought with me were sized to accomodate my altered proportions.

But then, my purse. Again, things I always thought I would carry. I recognized them as my own, but I did not remember how they came into my possession.

I racked my memories, wondering if there was something missing. And then I wondered how or why I could miss such a dramatic shift.

But then that left the how—I didn't _remember_ how my body came to be like this.

_How much time am I really missing? What if—_

My mind recoiled at the idea. I don't like not knowing if I can trust my memories.

☾◯☽

I then set about making low-sodium pancakes for the good Doctor and myself to share. What set this morning apart, though, is that we both had bags packed.

Both were more or less the equivalent of a day trip bag. Mine was white military duffle bag Pietro had dug out of a closet somewhere, and his was a green and brown tartan number that looked like it had just walked out of a wilderness survival movie.

Pietro was far more practiced than I at packing for Atlas, and I took a little extra time. His daughter's clothes were, well, they weren't _exactly_ my size.

I had given up on finding a bra that fit me - the only ones I could find were _far_ too tight around my nonsensically larger bust—though the real problem was the band size. Luckily, I did have the sports bra I apparently came here with, so I just wore that instead.

I'd managed to find a pair of canvas pants that fit me well enough, though nothing fit _exactly_ . In fact, the pants felt a bit tight around my waist, and _very_ tight _between_ my legs.

That was a tightness I was much more used to, though. 

Otherwise, sizing was close enough, but I still felt rather awkward wearing the clothes of a dead girl; though privately I wondered if it weren't a little befitting for my current state. Regardless, they weren't going to be permanent.

The entire morning felt incredibly surreal—I was wearing another woman's body. And a dead woman's clothes.

☾◯☽

Now, we were standing on the roof of the pharmacy, staring up at the sky for a private transport that should have been coming soon.

Pietro had explained that most folk down here needed to take public airbuses, in various states of ill-repair, if they wanted to go up to Atlas. I wondered how long that would hold, once the Fall happened.

I stood silently with the old man in the cold morning air of Mantle, with my hands in the pockets of my purple hoodie. I was used to cold climates, it didn't take much to insulate me against it.

Downside is that when I visited a place like Florida or California, I was _very_ uncomfortable.

I had the time to fully take in the skyline of Mantle. Off in the distance, an SDC factory churned out plumes of red smoke. Hovercars dotted the street below us, as workers made their way to their stores, factories, and offices. The population of a large country, crammed into a space the size of a big city. 

It was a wonder to me that society here didn't tear itself apart constantly from being in such close quarters. Perhaps it was the omnipresent threat of the Grimm that made the people more amenible to such a state of affairs.

After some time passed, Pietro looked up from his Scroll and pointed off into the skyline at the silhouette of a slender VTOL.

"Know what that is, my Wayward Watcher?"

"'fraid I don't know what you're asking."

"Well, it's our ride, of course, but it's also called a Bull—"

"—head?"

Pietro laughed. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised you know that, girl."

I smiled and let out a small sigh.

"Well, first place I visited in the library was the section with all the military history and gear books. We have some similar craft, but nowhere near as sophisticated."

Pietro nodded and crossed his arms. "Gravity Dust is quite a miraculous thing."

"Albeit expensive," I cynically added.

The old inventor laid his hands on his thighs as he stared at me.

"Hit the economics section too, eh?"

☾◯☽

A minute passed as we watched the Bullhead approach. As it got closer to the roof of the pharmacy, it slowed, and lifted its engines vertically, then flipped around, facing the side of the vessel towards the both of us.

A small hatch on the side of the ship fell open, practically colliding unceremoniously with the lip of the rooftop.

The uniformed operator—I wagered she must have been the co-pilot—stepped out onto the open hatch as the vehicle hovered over a mercifully empty alleyway, though the engine in front of us produced so much backdraft my poor hair was blown back and my bangs were immediately thrown everywhere.

 _What_ **_idiot_ ** _designed this ship? Doors right next to the engines—absolutely insane._

"Polendina plus one, right?!"

Pietro shouted back at her. 

"Ahyep, that's us, ma'am!"

"Alright, let's roll!"

☾◯☽

We'd stepped on the ship, and my eyes were greeted by a stark, utilitarian interior. Canvas harnesses, strapped to uncomfortable-looking benches lined both sides. All in all, it wasn't all too dissimilar from what I knew of military transport planes back home, though with the notable and complete absence of any rear hatch.

It made some amount of sense, I reasoned. I never saw craft of this design transporting anything resembling full platoons or even squads on the show. Four to five person teams of Huntsmen, usually, at most.

In the back of my mind, I was also mindful of the craft's clear age.

Pietro stepped into the middle of the craft, kitty-corner to where I was sitting, and parked, fiddling with the controls on it idly. A grim vision crossed my mind, and I couldn't keep my concerns about it to myself.

"Uhm, Doc? Aren't you worried about you like bouncing around in that?"

The old man didn't even look at me.

"My dear, never underestimate a scientist."

He tapped a button and the chair's feet swelled with purple energy—Gravity Dust, I wagered. The legs suddenly turned immobile as the chair lowered itself to the ground, and the formerly green lights turned to red, signifying to me a locked or turned-off status.

An automated harness roped itself around Pietro's chest, securing the man himself.

"Y'know, back home, I was something of an engineer myself." I mused at this borderline-pornographic display of technical prowess.

Pietro pulled his glasses down and glanced at me.

"Oh, really? What branch?"

"I mean, isn't it obvious?"

I started fussing with my hair to put it back into place. The old man relaxed back into his chair and crossed his arms. 

"Combat?"

I chuckled. "Robotics, actually."

"Hm. Maybe you're actually _qualified_ for the job that you're going to use as a cover after all."

"Probably not as much as you might think. From what I've seen of your technology, it'd be like asking a small engine mechanic to work on a particle accelerator."

Pietro flashed a confused glance at me.

"A _what_ now?"

☾◯☽

The ship lurched upwards and began ascending into the sky. In the interim, I'd put my ear buds in and started idly listening to [ some music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Em9rkDVVoPc) on my old world phone to drown out the sound of the engines. I looked out the cockpit and side windows as we flew.

> _Darkness of white, you can, through this sadness take your flight;_

Mantle looked very different from the air. The old Atlesian architecture, ever reminding me of a city from the 1800s, was on full view up here. I could see dirt, rust, smoke and crowds of people everywhere I glanced, but the short spires themselves were ornate, beautiful, and intricately carved. I could see throngs of workers walking and driving to whatever SDC factory or office building they were working in. 

> _And become the wings that pierce the veil, standing strong and true, tonight!_

Darkness seemed to encapsulate the entire swath of the city we were in as the shadow of Atlas bore down on it. Suddenly, we crossed into a well-lit area, and the morning sun practically shot into my eyes, temporarily blinding me.

> _Brought into the light at last by the cold, exposing sun._

When my vision returned, I saw only a vast, mirrored surface of cerulean arctic waters shifting and coursing underneath us. The waves themselves roiled and foamed gently as we flew over them; I wagered we must have been over the bay.

> _I was granted freedom tame, to become the chosen one!_

The airship banked to the left, and I caught a short glimse of a red and black serpentine creature ducking beneath the water. A Grimm. Distant though the monster was, its ebony carapace and crimson fins were oddly beautiful to me. Along its length were strips of red bioluminescent flesh that shimmered in clear spite of daylight. 

> _Through the mirror, night reflected, miraculous to see..._

As quickly as it rose out of the water, it slipped beneath the surface once more. Despite this, our proximity to the creature made me anxious.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked over at the source, Pietro. I removed one earbud, assuming he had something to say.

"Don't worry, girl! Mamalu don't go after airships!"

It was a rather grim comfort, but Pietro's words still assured me.

> _My soul threw away the mask that hides the deeper me!_

With one headphone out, I overheard the pilot speaking with whatever passed for flight control in Atlas. The pilot's voice was rough and coarse, masculine with a low timbre. 

"Transport six-four, beginning our ascent. Following nonstandard flight plan as filed, inbound to Atlas Academy Pad Five."

I glanced at Pietro. "Nonstandard flight plan?" 

He just gave me a warm smile, which I ended up returning as soon as I understood what he'd done.

The old man wanted to show me the sights.

☾◯☽

The transport approached the rocky forward face of Atlas, then the engines were brought vertical, and we ascended even further. For what felt like a full minute, all I could see was various industrial structures dotting the rock. A Faunus worker—I could tell they were Faunus from the cute little rabbit ears poking out of their hardhat—on an isolated and rickety-looking scaffold waved at us.

> _Disappearing fake light, be reborn a true light, within these hands!_

Then, the cold stone gave way to a metal industrial layer as we rose further. Then, as the song in my ears reached a crescendo again, the vision swiftly changed to the most beautiful city I'd ever seen in my life. In the morning sun, each building glimmered like an ocean of starlight. Though it also resembled a city in a snowglobe, as the entire city was wrapped in a cyan field of protective Hard Light.

> _Breaking the dark of night, piercing through the painted white!_

"This is Atlas?" I looked at Pietro, who simply nodded.

I glanced back out the window at the crystalline Olympus floating before me, suspended in the void like the Gods themselves willed it to be so.

"They should have sent a poet."

Once more, I heard the pilot's voice.

"Air Control, this is transport six-four, requesting upper shield access. I verify on secure channel one-two-niner."

Before us, the glowing cyan shield seemed to part in a single zone ringed by technology, allowing the airship through. Once on the other side, I saw a small lake of green, broken only in a few places of white buildings or technology. Dozens, no, hundreds of robotic worker and drones fluttered through each one, harvesting and sampling crops. The synthetic environment was a far cry from the desolate, chilly city below.

> _Cut it all away from yesterday, 'til a new era's in sight!_

We made our way through a tunnel, following one of the many holographic lines projected from a more tiny beacons than I could count, and now I reasoned that those served as guides for the dizzying array of air traffic that crossed through Atlas. 

> _Unlock the heart within, let it spread its wings and soar!_

From here, the verdant lands gave way to cold, labyrinthine industrial zones. Outside the window, I saw massive air vents, fans larger than the airship spinning quickly within them, shunting air from vast machines carved into the rock itself between them and Atlas. Whether they were intakes or exhausts, I really couldn't say.

I turned towards Pietro.

"Why do you need air vents? Doesn't air just flow in naturally?"

"The shields don't let air through. Then, there's always the risk of Grimm toxin attacks. Back in the day, the leadership decided Atlas should have her own isolated life support systems."

"Must be massive, to keep the city warm and fed with air."

"They are. The entire system accounts for thirty percent of the subterra utility. We can take a tour down there at some point, if you like. I have clearance."

"Might like that." I glanced back out the window. "Must be a hell of an updraft."

"That it is! The airspace over the exhaust fans is one massive no-fly zone."

Then there were other zones, seemingly designed to handle wastewater and distribution. Each machine greater than the last; some of them I could actually identify. Others looked completely different than the machines we had back home. Some had pipes that led back to the agricultural zones, while others led into the city itself.

Perhaps it was at this moment that Ironwood's future plan actually made some sense to me. For most purposes, Atlas seemed mostly self-sufficient, and clearly the center of a lot of important production for the nation. If they played their cards right, they could survive in the air for quite a while.

 _But then, there was the cost in lives,_ I reminded myself.

I think I understood why Pietro held a cynical tone towards this city. The people want for almost nothing.

☾◯☽

Once we'd arrived at Atlas Academy, Pietro and I said our goodbyes. I walked off in the company of a student representative to head to the library, while the old man headed to the secure floors to work on something I probably wouldn't have fully understood anyway. To stay in, I was given yet another guest room in Pietro's apartment up here.

Civilians don't get dorm rooms. I was lucky to have a roof over my head, really.

His apartment up here was far more spacious, and the height of luxury. Filled with gleaming ivory surfaces and a perfectly clean appearance. 

Though grateful, I felt slightly on edge in it. Felt like I was living in an iPod, really. The city was iridescent and beautiful from the outside, but when you looked closer, it was nothing but sterile and cold.

Much like the people who lived here.

I stepped through the sliding doors into the Atlesian library, and a glint of light flashed into my eyes, reflected between my always-dangling moon amulet and a massive mirror on the other side of the room. Despite being superficially similar in layout, the Atlas Library could not be any more different than the small, dingy, rustic Alsius Library in the city below.

I also couldn't entirely say it was the _good_ kind of different.

Before me was a wide U-shaped librarian's desk, with grand archways to the left and right that led into the inner sections of the library—presumably ones restricted from public viewing, given the cyan force fields closing them off. Not one, but two librarians were seated at the desk. Both were full-blooded human; a far cry from the diverse Faunus girls I met at the old library below. I will say this of the Atlesians, though—they didn't discriminate based on the color of one's skin or gender. 

I approached the one on the left, an older dark-skinned man with warm eyes and half-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Though, as I went, I was suddenly mindful of the fact that my amulet—or rather, the fact it depicted another world's moon—might raise questions I wasn't prepared to answer. As I approached, I hastily stuffed it into my t-shirt with about as much discreteness as a grenade launcher in a gun store.

After its cleanliness and frigid palette, the third thing I noticed about the Atlas Academy library was its sheer scale. The floor I was on alone, with the exception of the mirrored area before me, must have held as many books as the Library of Congress back home—though, I'd never visited, so I couldn't say for certain.

I focused my mind and put on my best dignified warrior maiden's voice. 

"Hail, friend."

The old man peered at me over his glasses and cocked an eyebrow.

"Ah. Yes. 'Hail' yourself, young miss. Can I help you with something?"

"If I may, I was interested in the Vytal—"

He interrupted me.

"There _is_ a card catalog, you know."

The old man gestured with an open palm to his left, at a holographic terminal with an inscrutable interface that was sitting on the desk itself.

I laughed awkwardly.

"Sorry, but I'm kind of from out of town, could you maybe show me how to use it?"

* * *

_Have you ever looked into a mirror, and wondered what it might be like?_

_Only the shadows may preserve you, if you're on the other side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Getting Going  
> ** This chapter marks the point where the early establishing is mostly done with and things _actually_ start moving. I promise. It also turned out to be _far_ longer than anticipated, even with a couple of scenes getting cut or pushed to future chapters. I really wanted to do the introduction of Atlas justice, and do a shit ton of worldbuilding in a kinda short time span, and that necessitated the longer chapter length. In total, _The Other Side_ is the longest single chapter so far for this fic, with almost 6,400 words.
> 
>  **Soundtrack  
> ** Don't worry, this fic hasn't take a deep dive into songfic territory. Lyrics will only crop up when it makes sense in-universe, and only at a few important moments. I felt this song suited the trip really well, though.
> 
> Don't @ me about D.N.Angel, pls. I've never seen it, I just really like AmaLee's cover.
> 
>  **Atlas Library  
> ** Interesting sidenote about the library itself you _might_ not have known -- yes, it really is supposedly that big and that circular!
> 
> While we haven't seen it in the show proper outside of a very blink-and-you-miss-it painting in V7E8, we do have official concept art of a section of it that I'm working from too. If you'd like to get a visual representation of what Sarah's looking at, click on [this elegant and finely crafted link!](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/rwby/images/a/ab/Kevin-harger-academylibrary-04.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20200219032728)
> 
> While we're also never told exactly where the library is, the circular layout kind of points to it being in the lower 'main hall' section of the Academy, so that's where I've placed it. The bit about the restricted section in the center, though, well, that's all me.
> 
> And definitely _not_ foreshadowing anything, nope... ~~It actually might not be.~~
> 
>  **In A Mirror, Darkly  
> ** Sarah has also gained my overbearing stoicism and grim inflections, as well as an often pointlessly philosophical, broody nature. I am... _very much_ poking fun at myself here. A lot. 
> 
> She is an exaggeration, praising my strengths at the same time as deconstructing my flaws. And she's gonna get her ass handed to her, a lot. Being thrown into another world has already taken tolls she's not willing to admit to herself.
> 
> True strength or rage isn't what's on display in a lot of situations she encounters. Rather, it's a scared woman trying to make sense and gain some measure of control ... in a situation far beyond her control. 
> 
> **Bullheaded Stupidity  
> ** Like Yang, I get cranky when my hair is messed with, and I've depicted that here, so take Sarah's opinion of the Bullhead transport with a grain of salt.  
> That being said, it is a _somewhat_ questionable design—there's a reason why we, in the real world, tend to _avoid_ designs like the Bullhead, with those two massive exit doors on the side, rather than having larger bay doors on the back, and the reason being, well, t he engines are right friggin' there.
> 
> Setting canon aside, this is the interpretation I'm working on for my story: the _Bullhead_ -class is an earlier model, and the later "[Atlesian Dropship](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/rwby/images/d/d9/V3_10_Gunship.png/revision/latest?cb=20160201132509)" (in my universe, named the _Condor_ -class), was a new model intended to correct the flaws of the _Bullhead_ , which has been phased out by the time of this chapter and used only for light duty work in Atlas, though operators outside of Atlas still use it regularly for combat duty.
> 
> Fittingly, the _Condor_ -class has a rear bay door instead of these weird side doors. As to where the _Manta_ -class plays into all this, well, that comes later. Let's just say that after the Fall, everything changes.


	8. Our Own Miss Sable

_Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you_ —

* * *

_In another world, beyond the planes of Remnant and the machinations of Salem and her Grimm, a dark-skinned woman palmed her phone off to the side, looking to her dinner once more._

_The two were women from separate worlds themselves, for the dark-skinned woman wore the black, high-collared dress uniform of a United States Marine. The other wore a simple black evening dress._

_The woman before her had ivory skin, with jet-black hair and wide shoulders. Her hazel eyes were crowned by straight-cut bangs._

_Even in the upper-middle class restaurant they were eating in, the clothing they wore made the marine stand out._

_"I just don't know, Sarah."_

_Sarah took a bite out of an unbuttered dinner roll and chewed for a moment, swallowing the piece in the least uncouth manner she could, gulping it down unceremoniously._

_The transwoman never broke etiquette, but she definitely pushed it on a regular enough basis that she knew what she could get away with._

_"Don't know—or can't say?"_

_"Both."_

◀⬤▶

_Our own Sarah... Don't know her last name. But even from the first, I think some meaning could be gleaned._

The background noise of his lab idly shifted when the air conditioning vents turned on, stirring Pietro from his thoughts. He spoke openly to the room itself.

"AURA."

The familiar dulcet tones of his pet AI sounded through a nearby loudspeaker. 

_"Yes, Doctor?"_

"Search linguistic database for the given name, 'Sarah'."

_"Working."_

Pietro reclined back, took his hat off, and set it on the table, then rubbed his sweaty temple.

A moment later, AURA spoke again.

_"Sarah. Given name. Origin: Vacuan Highlands. Culture: Faunus, Clan Alik'ii. Meaning: Royal, Princess, Monarch, Lady."_

"Interesting."

Pietro leaned forward, then tapped a few buttons on his console. 

_"Sir, may I ask why you're accessing internal security cameras?"_

"Just checking in on my new friend. That'll be all, AURA."

_"Very well, sir."_

On Pietro's monitor, the security feeds from the Library some fourty levels below lit up.

He tabbed past a few civilians and off-duty Huntsmen poring over weapon designs or Grimm reports, until he found the girl he was looking for.

She was surrounded by more tomes than almost any of the others he'd tabbed past. At least three were currently open, but the covers of the ones that weren't in her immediate focus were propped up on other, closed books, ensuring that, while she wouldn't lose the page and could still read them, they weren't being held open flat.

Most of her crisp, dark hair was tied up in a loose ponytail, though the side-tails of her bangs were left free to hang along the side profiles of her face.

The scientist eventually saw her touch the center of her chest lightly, and realized that she was brushing against her concealed amulet. 

While focused on the stream, Pietro heard a brisk knocking from his right.

He swiftly tabbed out from the internal security feeds, then narrowed his eyes at the silvery sliding door that separated his lab from the hallway.

All the lab floors had secure access IDs, as well as doorbells. There was only one person up here with the right mixture of decency, old-fashioned tendencies, and downright bullheaded stubbornness that made someone _knock._

"Come in, Allie." Pietro''s mechanical chair pushed away from his workstation.

The door slid open with a hiss of compressed air. 

Through the now-vacant frame stepped the brown-haired woman he ran into in passing the other night. An old friend of his, and a colleague from the very earliest days.

The woman pushed her data-glasses back onto her face and sighed.

"Morning." 

"And to you, Pietro. How are things?"

"Well, another day, another Lien, am I right!" Pietro chuckled, and adjusted his bow tie cheekily.

"A couple thousand Lien, in your case," Doctor Redding prodded.

"And in yours as well. Never forget"—Pietro wagged a teasing finger at his old friend, who looked off to the side pensively—"we are all _privileged_ children of Mantle up here. Why leave a city in the clou—"

Dr. Redding looked back at Pietro and tersely interrupted his musing.

"Pietro, I've just gotten some awful news."

"Sorry?" The old man adjusted his glasses, peering over them at Allison.

"Have you heard about what happened to Ariana and, ehm, her daughter?"

"Ariana? No—"

Pietro's aged mind took a moment longer than he would have liked to remember, then he glanced over to his desk where an old photo lay.

There were five scientists in that picture, all scientific champions in their day. Dr. Carter, Dr. Antipode. Then, seated in the middle was a much less grizzled Pietro. To his far right was a man nobody dared speak of in this day. 

But to Pietro's immediate left in the picture, between himself and the mustached devil, was a black-haired, hazel-eyed woman who stood shorter than the rest of the five men—Dr. Ariana Sable.

"You don't mean to say, Allie, that Ari, she—"

"I wish I came bearing better news. I— I thought you'd heard."

Pietro's eyes wavered, memories of a time he thought would stay buried forever resurfacing.

"She's passed," Pietro concluded.

"I just found out last night. News from that far out from any Kingdom takes a rather long time to arrive, and given how remote that village she moved to is. Well, she passed of natural causes almost fifteen years ago."

"Fifteen years? By the Brothers, Allie."

"I know. Sounds unbelievable. What's worse is that her daughter passed about a year ago, which is when news came back to us. Grimm attack. Routine records check by Shade followed up on her mom, and that was found out."

"Awful. Simply _awful_." 

The old man crossed his arms. "I never forgave Arthur for what he did to her, even if there was never any _proof_." 

Pietro's eyes turned down as he remembered some _rather_ dark things.

"The man was just _broken_ inside _."_

Both were grimly quiet for a moment, a quiet understanding of a past nightmare resonating between the two aged people. After what felt like an eternity, Pietro spoke again.

"If you ask me, it was a good thing that he had that little _incident_ of his. Thanks for letting me know, Allie."

Pietro took his glasses off. 

"You were just a lab assistant back then, weren't you?"

"Mmhm, that I was." 

"What a fine researcher you've grown into since then."

"Thanks. That means much, coming fron you."

The old man rolled his shoulders back into his chair. "It's the truth."

Pietro then turned around and started walking back to his workstation, continuing the conversation as he went.

"Now, ah, was this just a macabre social call, or did you have something else?"

"Just the macabre social call, sadly."

"And what a fine social call it is. We should toast, later. To fallen friends."

Pietro glanced over at the framed portrait on his desk, looking the tall, lanky man on the far right in his coldhearted eyes.

_And past sins._

"Think we should. Your place, dear?"

Doctor Polendina nodded. "Scroll me the time, I'll see what we can do.

At this, Dr. Redding bowed softly, then left his company, departing to her own lab down the hall.

Pietro opened up his workstation again, and it restored the same internal security camera.

He gazed down at the dark-haired, hazel-eyed woman from another world who had no name to call her own here, and no legal identity.

The news of Ariana's death was a tragedy, certainly... but her daughter had even less of a paper trail to her.

Strings pulled taut in the good doctor's mind as he conjured up a plan.

_With sad news maybe comes an opportunity, however unfortunate..._

_For our own Miss Sable._

◀⬤▶

_Sarah leveled the blade of a dull butterknife at her military friend and wiggled it gently in the air, then spoke in an awful feigning of a Russian accent._

_"You know, ve have vays of making you talk."_

_Roberta laughed. "Even if I knew what was going on on the front, why do you even want to know?"_

_Sarah put the blade down, staring grimly into her reflection._

_"You know I was born into a military family."_

_"I do," Roberta said._

_"I wanted to serve."_

_"I know."_

_"Yet"—Sarah sat more upright in her chair_ — _"the ban."_

_Roberta nodded sympathetically._

_"I know. All these years and they still haven't undone it."_

_Sarah shifted in her seat anxiously and laid one hand on her lap. After a moment, she looked Roberta in the eyes._

_"It just makes me so damn angry."_

_Sarah rolled her eyes._

_"The world. Why does it hate us so much?"_

_"Sarah," Roberta extended an arm out across the table.  
_

_"It isn't you, or all the people like you. It's just the state of things. People are good, it just, it takes time for these things to change."_

_Sarah narrowed her eyes. In her mind, she knew that Roberta was right._

_But some part of her disagreed._

◀⬤▶

Hours later, Doctor Polendina closed up his lab, hit the elevator, and kicked the button that said '11' on it with a precise hit from his chair's foreleg. As the elevator lurched into motion, he pondered on how he had always loathed the maddeningly silent elevators in the new Academy.

 _The ones down in Alsius played a nice little ditty that sounded like the old national anthem_ , he recalled.

Still, anything was better than silence.

A few minutes later, the elevator dinged, and the doors opened, revealing the expansive circular library.

Pietro didn't come down as often as he'd like, as the laboratory's computers were simply much quicker references.

But, he remembered as he set his chair to silent running and started walking in, the musk of learning was not found in the scents of cold steel and ozone, but rather in the somber scent of worn leather and dusty shelves.

Doctor Polendina strode past entire sections, rounding the great outer ring, looking for his Wayward Watcher. Finally, he saw her.

She was currently snoring on top of a closed copy of _The_ _World of Remnant, Complete Edition, Volume XVIII_.

The soon-to-be Miss Sable carried herself like a dignified princess and outside of a few brief outbursts glimpsed only in passing, Pietro could have sworn she hadn't any emotions at all.

Sarah elevated unnecessary gravitas to an art form, so when she almost looked human, for once, it endeared her a little more to him.

Doctor Polendina approached the table and cleared his throat. The girl was muttering in her sleep, though one word was intelligible.

"Roberta—"

Sarah lifted her head up and rubbed one of her eyes. Her askew reading glasses fell off of her head, clattering on the table. The noise startled her, rending her exhausted state suddenly as she stiffened in surprise and gasped.

"Doc?"

"Evening, 'princess'."

Sarah only melodramatically put her head back on the book, groaning.

"Morning for me. At least, usually."

"You're nocturnal? _On purpose?_ "

At this, Sarah just made a nodding motion without lifting her head up, messing up her disheveled bangs even further.

"And who's Roberta? An old friend?"

Again, Sarah nodded without lifting her head up.

_A new mystery every day..._

Pietro unceremoniously tapped the table, eliciting a sharp gasp from the dark-haired girl.

"C'mon, girl. I got some news for you."

Sarah lifted her head up and yawned.

"Good or bad?"

"Little of both, but we gotta have some privacy for this."

☾◯☽

An isolated emergency stairway was all the two needed, far outside of the view of the _almost_ omnipresent security apparatus and out of range of anyone that might have busy ears.

Pietro clapped his hands and rubbed them together craftily.

"So, what d'ya think, girl?"

"I don't know, let me summarize this insane idea just so we're clear on it."

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed before she continued. 

"Your _plan_ is for me to basically _fake_ being the daughter of one of your former coworkers."

"Yep." Pietro flicked the brim of his cap.

"And this woman happens to also be _conveniently_ deceased."

The irreverent loner crossed her arms as she leaned aginst the wall.

"Along with her own daughter, who will then legally be, for all intents and purpose, _my_ _sister_."

"Also yes," Pietro stated flatly.

"And there's no concerns of _other_ family members saying otherwise."

"Mmhm."

"No existing records that would dispute my claim."

"Nope."

Sarah lifted up a hand and held it outwards flippantly. "So, please explain this last part to me because I think I'm a little lost: I can just _say_ that I'm this—what, 'Sarah Sable'—with _no_ evidence, and the Atlesian records bureau will just make it _official._ Without fact-checking it."

"Well, yes but actually, erhm, no."

"You're talking in circles, Doc."

Pietro pushed his glasses further up onto his nose with a hand and sighed. 

"Then allow me to be perfectly clear. Citizenship and lineage in Remnant is a—"

The good doctor leaned on his armrest.

"Well, let's just say it's a _complicated_ matter to get right. For a lot of reasons, not the least of which being—"

"The Grimm."

Sarah had rightly chimed in with the obvious conclusion.

"Quite so, my dear girl. _Quite_ so."

Pietro shifted in his chair before continuing.

"So, the Kingdoms generally don't bother. Lost records from local jurisdictions just, well, collapsing, combined with the lethality of life outside the kingdoms means that a lot of entire families just end up going _missing_ overnight. Then, there's the matter of orphans—"

"You can, ah, stop there, Doc. I think I get the idea."

Pietro nodded at Sarah. 

"To make a complicated process short, all we need to make it official and, more importantly, _legal_ , is a signed waiver from the Chief of Records, one witness attesting to the authenticity of your story"—he tapped his chest—"and the best candidate for that is, well, yours truly."

He cleared his throat. "I knew Ariana myself, and her little tyke, though that was, ahm, many, many years ago."

"So, a fake woman who's the daughter of a dead woman, wearing another dead woman's clothes."

Pietro shook his head. "Must you make it sound so macabre?"

"I don't _exactly_ have any other setting when it comes to things like this." Sarah sighed. "I don't have any other options, so, I accept."

"Well, then." Pietro held out a hairy, tanned hand to the young woman. "Welcome to Atlas, Sarah Sable."

Miss Sable accepted the welcome and shook Pietro's hand firmly.

"So I am."

"Not yet, at least, not officially. There is still the matter of the genetic screening and an interview—"

"Hold on, Doc. What do you mean by _genetic screening?_ "

"In Atlas, confirming ancestry is a tad more, erhm, _sophisticated._ "

Sarah's eyes drew a path across the floor pensively. 

"I see. And it didn't cross your mind that maybe they might catch onto the fact that I _got no_ _ancestry to confirm?_ "

"Don't worry, my dear. I know a fellow in bioscience who owes me a favor."

"You're gonna fake a DNA test for me. _You._ "

Pietro said nothing and just flicked the brim of his cap again.

In the back of Sarah's mind, she marveled at the old man.

From what she'd seen on the 'historical records' she enjoyed so much, she believed that Pietro was nothing more than upstanding citizen of Atlas.

The idea he'd stick his neck out on the line like that for her, it felt almost wrong.

* * *

_Others tear you open and leave you in pieces._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Measured Wattage**  
>  The reference to Watts and what he did to Ariana is both not what you think it is but also far worse than you can imagine. He is not so much completely evil as he is ambitious, and that can lead to some awful crimes by itself. Pietro believes—and hopes—that he is dead. There's a damn good reason for that, but Arthur isn't chaotic evil, he wouldn't 
> 
> **Confirming Death**  
>  Death confirmation is tricky in Remnant. With so many people dying in gruesome ways to the Grimm, even identifying bodies can be impossible. Combine this with the remoteness of certain locales, and things get even more complicated. Thus, news of a death that occured years ago might only reach distant friends long after the person is dead and buried.
> 
>  **Pietro's Plan**  
>  Insert your own making someone a real girl joke here. The justification I went with actually makes sense to me, honestly. Even so, the reason for Pietro doing this is only to "confirm" the relation, so that she doesn't look out of place or appear to have come out of thin air. However, there's enough exposition in this chapter as it is, so that got left on the cutting room floor, as it were.
> 
> The next chapter is even worse, though that's more scientific shenanigans.
> 
>  **Ahead Full Stop**  
>  You remember when I said things get moving after this point? Yeah, I kinda lied. Sorry.


	9. Convergence, Part 1

_The New Atlesian's Dictionary entry on convergence reads:_

_"Noun. The act of converging and especially moving toward union or uniformity."_

* * *

_Pietro coughed, placing a hand on his chest, seemingly in some degree of pain. After a moment, he recovered and began talking with a much more serious tone of voice._

_"Well, the fall of Beacon took a toll on all of us. James was no different. I couldn't tell you exactly what it was he saw there."_

_The old man leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "But it_ changed _him. He's—"_

_"He's scared," Qrow finished grimly._

_"Paranoid would be the more appropriate term. You have to understand, it wasn't just the Grimm. Someone completely dismantled Atlas security code—made it their play-thing! Made us look traitors to some... and buffoons to everyone else."_

_Pietro lifted off his iconic hat and scratched a liver spot on his head._

_"Whoever managed to do that is either a genius, or"—he replaced his newsboy cap, and looked back at the heroes before him—"one of our own. I fear the answer may be both, and so does the General."_

☾◯☽

I paused the video on my phone and sighed, then glanced to the Atlesian room around me. Walls painted a medical white, and the very air tasted manufactured and pristine. Even when one walked outside, all the air was recycled. Recycled air for a recycled city.

Blue lights and controls lined the bedroom, each one doing something slightly different. There were even indicators on the smooth white dresser illustrating how full each one was, and you could set names for each drawer, making organization easier.

It seemed that up here in Atlas, it was a science fiction utopia out of my wildest dreams. Yet it wasn't a dream, no matter how much I wanted it to be.

I didn't _want_ to be here. I never did. Who would? It's a world on the edge of oblivion, with a living goddess of death on the edges of the known world, pushing her grimm plans onto humanity.

And even on "our" side, we had Ozma. A man who, for all the good things he's done, wasn't really all that much better.

I found myself adrift in a world that was not my own. A world out of my darkest dreams, and maybe it was for that reason that I seemed to hesitate when it came to what I knew, and what I _could_ do.

Even if Ironwood wasn't about to admit it after the fall of Beacon, I have always held self-awareness close to my heart.

And if I were being completely honest, I was utterly _terrified_.

☾◯☽

I put my knees together and pulled myself to the edge of the bed, looking out the window. The perfectly square pane was lined on almost all sides by some high-tech computer interface. On one side, in the usual cerulean glowing text that almost all Atlesian computers used, it displayed some basic information. The usual suspects—current time, date, year, temperature, etcetera.

> **1045 Hours**
> 
> **Saturday, June 14th**
> 
> **Y 204.12**
> 
> **Ambient Temperature: 290** ** 92  ** **EDv**
> 
> **Exterior Temperature: 279** ** 82  ** **EDv** ****

They used the same calendar here that I knew back home, but the years were all wrong. It was _—_ I assumed _—_ year two-hundred and four of what they called the twelfth era. I was hesitant to ask Pietro how they defined their eras. My head was already spinning enough.

_Strange scale for temperature, though. Kelvin, maybe?_

I reached under my bed and dragged my purse out by the one strap I could grab onto from where I sat, then dug around, trying to find my thermometer again.

It could only measure fahrenheit and celsius, but if I can get a baseline for their temperature measurements, maybe I could understand just a little more about this strange world.

I pulled the plastic card out, then let the gauge settle in the room's temperature. After a moment, the red dial settled on just under the indicators that read 64℉ and 18℃.

I hummed and tucked my tongue to the side of my lips as I thought, glancing back and forth between the data-wall and my more primitive thermometer.

_Need to know more, but—_

_"Can I assist you with something, ma'am?"_

I let out a gasp and stiffened up, looking around the room to find the source of the words.

The voice was feminine, sultry. It came from nearby and seemed to have something resembling a British accent, but definitely not following any Informed Pronounciation rules I knew of.

"Who are you?"

Then, in front of me, a holographic projector flared to life. A transparent, cyan woman identical in color to the rest of the interfaces crowding Pietro's apartment flashed into existence.

I scrambled ferally back onto the bed, clutching the sheets in surprise.

_"Apologies for startling you, miss. I am AURA, Pietro's virtually intelligent assistant."_

I blinked. "Intelligent assistant? Are you, uhm, like Penny?"

The AI did not move at all in response.

_"If you are referring to a degree of sapience and self-awareness, I can assure you that I am little more than a quasi-intelligent virtual agent; my intelligence matrix was developed as an early precursor to the P.E.N.N.Y. project, improved and iterated on over several years to keep pace with new developments."_

I angled my eyes up and down and sized up my new 'friend'. She was not naked _—_ like a certain _other_ AI I knew of _—_ and wore a simple Atlesian suit with a tailcoat. On her virtual head, she had back-length hair, tied down in a prim ponytail, and a simple side-bang that fell on the right side of her head. Her eyes, though unidentifiable in color from the monochrome projectors, seemed to express a hint of untold wisdom.

The rest of her body was rather small and petite, with an almost flat chest. She looked somewhat like a child, but clearly was closer to my height and designed to resemble a grown adult.

_"However, I do not have what others in Remnant would call an 'aura', despite my name."_

My eyes darted around the room, looking for hidden cameras and speakers in every nook. Though I found none, my suspicion didn't waver.

"How long have you been watching me?"

_"I have not been 'watching' you. Privacy locks as well as organic moral restraints prevent me from monitoring anyone without their knowledge or consent."_

"Are you also sworn to secrecy about anything I say?" I asked, clawing at the bedsheets.

AURA glanced down at the floor. For a moment, I could have sworn the AI was thinking far deeper than the sort of 'low' intelligence she claimed to be.

_"That is a negative. However, I do understand the importance of keeping the secret of your origin from others; Pietro has bound me to secrecy in that regard."_

"You know, for a mere 'virtual agent', you seem to be rather forward about the 'I's and 'me's."

AURA closed her eyes and nodded at me, smiling knowingly.

_"I assure you, I only bear a fascimile of self-awareness."_

My eyes turned away from the AI pensively. I wasn't entirely convinced that she was telling me the truth.

In the corner of my vision, I could see the AI put her holographic arms behind her back, as if dutifully standing at attention.

_"To get back to the point, is there anything I can help you with, Miss Sarah?"_

I looked back into the AI's—well, I guess technically they weren't _eyes_ , per se. But an illusion of eyes I would look into regardless.

"Actually, yeah. Can you tell me what these, uhm"—I narrowed my eyes at the data-glass, trying to read those three letters—"ee-dee-vees, are?"

_"The acronym is short for 'Engel-Deviation'. Current Remnant scientific theory holds that all matter, including those off the arcane group of the elemental table, largely including most types of known Dust, is made up of these extraordinarily small building blocks called Temna—"_

"Those Temna. What scale are we talking?"

_"As yet unquantified for individuals, and theoretical, as observation is difficult. Most estimates place them in the nanoscale range."_

"So I imagine things like scanning electron microscopes don't exist here?"

AURA stared blankly at me as I brushed one of my side-bangs out of my field of vision.

_"I have no record of such devices."_

I waved a hand off to the side.

"Never mind, then. What do these 'Temnus' have to do with Engel-Deviation?"

_"The measurement is a rough approximation of how active the ambient temperature makes them, starting at absolute zero, referring to the scientific value of infinite cold, a hypothetical state in which the Temnus do not move in any detectable—"_

"AURA, I think that's all I needed to know, thank you."

She immediately stopped talking. I placed my thumb and index finger on the bridge of my nose and sighed.

_Okay, definitely Kelvin. Temnus must be their word for atoms. Making a note of that._

"One more question—when is the doctor due back home?"

_"Doctor Polendina's personal aeroshuttle is presently located at Atlas Academy. His schedule did not specify a return time."_

"And... any word on ... I don't know, the citizenship he was looking into for me?"

_"Unknown inquiry, please specify."_

"Identify me, AURA."

_"You are Sarah."_

"I meant with the Atlesian authorities. You know, databases?"

_"Working."_

The AI seemed to stare into space for a moment.

_"Identified. Sarah Sable. Citizenship Status: Application pending. Face recognition data matches an unknown individual who appeared in Mantle eleven days ago."_

AURA paused, then glanced down at me. She smiled.

_"You are known, Miss Sable."_

I returned the grin with renewed vigor.

"So I am. Thanks, AURA."

AURA bowed respectfully, then flashed out of existence, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

☾◯☽

My curiosity overloaded for the moment, I bit my lip and glanced idly over to the left, where a thick humming brick was sitting on the ground, linked to a socket on the wall. Strange white energy pulsed into it through what seemed to be a fiber-optic cable.

The Atlesian power converter was then linked to another smaller, more primitive-looking black brick, the massive charging bank I'd brought with me.

The man was a damn genius. One look at some USB cables and my charger and he took like 5 minutes to scrounge together a converter. I think I made the right choice coming to him first, really.

I couldn't even to understand all of the technology yet, but I was also picking things up somewhat quickly. I spent a lot of time tinkering and studying back home, though my talents were nowhere near his.

I mean, I would have politely asked to watch him build the devices, but, being a ghost, I wasn't allowed to step foot in his lab yet.

Ironic, he asked me to be his assistant, which was a role I was happy to fulfill while trying to figure out what I was going to do next. Thing is, I wasn't doing a whole lot of _assisting_ yet.

The man figuring out how to convert their power to my own devices was a mixed blessing, though.

Sure, it was nice to have my music and videos back, but that collection of videos included—well, some of the darkest and bleakest moments of their immediate future, along with everything else that happens after the fall.

With this knowledge, maybe I could change it, but I knew the repurcussions were completely unpredictable. And if I _tried_ , what would I even do?

"I'm just one girl," I said out loud.

No support, really. Just the weapons I brought with me. And not even enough ammo to get by, much less the kind that would be needed to make a difference. Sure, I know what's coming, but against it I'm _so very far_ outmatched.

And then another thought shot through my mind.

_It's really not my business, is it?_

This isn't a cartoon, and this _isn't_ my world. Even if I _could_ change things, there's still the question of whether I _should_.

Though, since I _am_ stuck here, I should consider—

"AURA?"

A shimmering sound occured, combined with the immediate rematerialization of the AI before me.

_"Yes, Miss Sable?"_

"When's the next full moon?"

_"It was yesterday, ma'am. At sixteen-eleven hours."_

I privately swore to myself that I hadn't asked Pietro that question earlier.

"And what about new moon?"

AURA cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at that. _"Do you mean broken moon, ma'am?"_

At this, I just leaned forward and planted my face in my hands.

_"Is something wrong, ma'am?"_

☾◯☽

I walked out into Pietro's Atlesian living room pensively. Blue carpeting lined much of the space, and a glass fireplace (from the ombre tint the flames were casting, it presumably worked on some kind of fire Dust) let out a radiant sort of heat into the space.

I turned my head to the right and saw a massive window leading out to Atlas. Swarms of aircraft flew by in the distance, following the guidance rings into or out of the city proper. The overwhelmingly blue, pristine sky was almost cloudless; and like almost nothing I'd ever seen back home.

"In this world, the sky is so bright."

_"Ma'am?"_

I cocked my head to the side, as if talking back to someone behind me.

"Nothing, AURA. Just a reference to a song I heard once."

_"I see."_

I looked back out at the window, and saw an Atlesian airship, the spindly, sprawling ones that passed for their military slowly flying by the window. Blue flames poured out of its tail section, and the fins twitched and shifted, moving as if they were the way the thing maneuvered. For all I knew, it was.

Then, strangely, I saw a smaller ship flying right next to it in what seemed to be an escort formation. It looked almost identical to the larger one I _thought_ I was more familiar with, but almost half the size.

_Curious._

"AURA, can you identify these two ships?"

_"Only declassified information is available."_

"That's alright, I'm just curious."

 _"The larger vessel is the primary ship-of-the-line of the Atlesian fleet, the_ Concordance- _class battleship. Specifically, the_ Gewinn _. The smaller one is a_ Guardian _-class cruiser, the_ By Any Other Means _."_

"The ' _Gewinn_ '?"

AURA paused for a moment.

_"It means 'victory' in Old Mantlean."_

"And what about the cruiser, the _—_ what was it called, ' _By Any Other Means_ '?"

 _"The_ Guardian _-class is a newer vessel, following a naming scheme dispensing entirely with Mantlean names. Older vessels like the Gewinn are also planned to be recommissioned to fit. The intent, per a memorandum from General Ironwood, is to shed the chains of our history more thoroughly though some political factions dislike the change, calling it an attack on their heritage_."

I scoffed quietly.

"Nothing new under the sun, I see. No matter what sun it is."

_"If I may ask, Sarah—"_

"You know, I really don't buy that whole 'I'm just a dumb AI' thing."

I turned around. Before me was, of course, AURA, projected as if she were standing there.

The hologram blinked, seemingly confused.

_"I am sorry?"_

I started walking over to her, but walked past her respectfully, whispering into her illusory ear as I went.

"If you are more than what you are supposed to be, as I suspect, you can be that with me. I will tell no one."

The AI didn't even move or respond.

Maybe I caught her circuits off guard, but I also had a feeling that she was holding back a lot.

I hated that feeling.

As I was walking into the kitchen to grab a snack from the refrigerator, something gross and sugary called "Schnee's Frost-Flakes", I heard the distinctive pneumatic _hissing_ of the front door sliding open.

The rustic timbre of the good doctor's voice pierced through the apartment.

"Sarah?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to point out that AURA hasn't lied to Sarah about what she is. I'm a poet and see patterns in things that aren't quite real, and I know it. The in-universe Sarah shares this character flaw, of anthropomorphization with no real basis in logic. If faced with a fairly realistic-seeming, however purportedly nonsapient AI, I would probably have some degree of assumption of sapience like Sarah displays here.  
>   
> At the same time, I've read probably a little too much Sci-Fi and my favorite movie is I, Robot- aka, that one Will Smith movie. A fair Asimov adaptation, in my opinion, though pretty heavily criticized for being too action-packed. I don't know, I like some gunplay with my philosophy. Point is, It's about probability. If an emergent AI is at risk of turning hostile, then maybe treating it with respect and kindness might avert the course. If it's already kind of nice, but afraid, getting it to open up means you've got a powerful ally.  
>   
> I guarantee you Sarah's not thinking it out that far, though. For this and other reasons, she is _quite_ an unreliable narrator.  
>   
> Also, motivation is hard. Sorry.  
>   
>  **Convergent Technology**  
>  The chapter title is a reference to convergent evolution, the idea that disparate organisms can develop similar traits over time, and in this world the parallel idea of convergent technological evolution (mostly a sci-fi trope, really) is used a lot. It's rather blatant and not a hard reach, considering what we see in canon RWBY.  
>   
> There are a few other double meanings there, but that would be _telling_.  
>   
>  **Goodnight, Moon**  
>  There's some funky things going on with Remnant's moon and I have a really cool explanation, but it'll have to wait for later. This chapter had enough exposition, so that got left on the cutting room floor for now.  
>   
>  **Ships That Pass in the Night**  
>  There's really only a few things I've explicitly changed from RWBY canon; and one of these is the makeup of the Atlesian fleet. While I previously hit on what I've done with [the dropships specifically](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460455/chapters/59117314), the larger ship has also been given a name, along with a few other changes that are slowly building up to.  
>   
> The Atlesian fleet is just, in my opinion, patently ridiculous from a military perspective, even in-universe. It's built around a core of these huge, expensive resource sinks - slow, hard-hitting battleships, essentially, and the loss of even one is a pretty big blow. There's kind of a reason we abandoned seafaring vessels _like_ them in the real world, and while they could excel in anti-Grimm duties, the resource cost and scale just feels utterly idiotic, when you take into account the purported desperate resource shortages much of the Kingdoms have to deal with.  
>   
> Sure, it could be justified as artistic license, as well as yknow, art budget constraints. But the nice thing about fanfiction is that you get the opportunity to expand the universe in your own way, and this is one area I've decided to do so. It also sort of explains the inconsistent scaling of the Atlesian Airship in-universe. There's literally three different sizes of Atlesian airship that look really similar from a distance, and all the ships all play a role later on.  
>   
> As a happy side effect, they actually feel more like a sensible navy now.


	10. Convergence, Part 2

**_Something's not right._ **

_Where was she? Didn't matter. She was here now. bu͏t wher̕e w̡ąs here̶_

_Ashen sand under her feet. Poisoned, burned. Some of the sand looks like glass, melted iridescent stones glimmering in maroon light._

_She looks up. Sees a sky drowning in red. Her heart races. Even the sky isn't right._

_Something's not right._

_Distorted, sickly, wrongly-hewn waters. An ocean, coursing and flitting before her in the moonlight._

_But the orbital body that cast the light was not the one she knew, but one she knew once, or was it her? Something's not right._

_A flash. A spark. Something moves under the rolling waves. Something deep, buried, d̢r͢ǫ͘w͏̷n҉i̸n͠͝g͡._

_Sarah heard her own voice l̶̕a̕u͏g̛̕h̵i͞n͝ģ._

_She reaches out._

_It pulls back into the abyss. Runs away like sand through her fingers. It wants to be heard_ — _it needs to_ — _but it can't._

 _Then something else floats to the surface. A motionless figure. It drools, runs wetter with something. Tar. Or_ —

_She tries to look, but the sight fades into the water before she can identify it._

_She knows she has never seen this person. But_ — _no, sh͟e͡ ҉has ̷seen ̸th̵e͠m͏. Something's not right._

[ **_Şome͏ţh͟ing's͟ no͡t ̶r͟ight.͢_ ** ](https://clyp.it/bykeyevf?token=a1f97eba8a1058c3c8cff08d6ff6280c)

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The world abruptly spun back into existence around me as I gasped, falling onto the refrigerator, bracing myself against the tide and choking onto what small slips of air I could. 

I heard a mechanical whirring around the corner, approaching. I saw Pietro's warm eyes and my panicked breathing started to slow. 

He lifted up his hands defensively, laughing heartily at my seeming surprise.

"Sorry, girl, didn't mean to spook ya."

"It's— It's okay, Doc."

He cocked his head and bit his lip at me. "You alright?"

I _wanted_ to say that I felt wron̷g͘ inside. Like there was something there, something I'm m̡i̛s̛sin̶g̸, or forgetting, or maybe both.

I _wanted_ to say 'something's not ri͝ght̸', but all that came out was a relaxed exhale.

"I'm fine. Just was lost in my thoughts, is all."

"Well, maybe I can assuage one of your worries, girl." 

Pietro lifted up a smaller Scroll and held it out at me. When I took it, I saw long paragraphs of text.

I cocked an intrigued eyebrow as I scrolled through the, well, Scroll, and skimmed most of the sections. Seemed to be a form.

Seemingly sensing my confusion, Pietro interjected.

"It's a, uh. Application for citizenship, filed in your name." 

"It went through?"

He lifted up his hat and scratched one of his many liver spots, and I found myself biting my lip, looking to the side a little when he did so.

"Mmhm."

"Thanks for helping me out with the paperwork, it was really intensive."

"Yeah, I know how it is. Also, that friend in biology came through, helped with the genetic screening. Should be perfect, with just enough inaccuracy to be plausibly dismissable and pass as errors in screening or genetic deviation."

"That's wonderful knews." I set the new-looking Scroll down onto the kitchen counter and held out a hand, cocking my hip. "So what about that interview you mentioned?"

He nodded. "Scheduled for monday. Make sure you get some rest tomorrow, you'll need it."

I laughed playfully.

"No pressure, then?"

"Only the pressure you put on yourself, girl." He flashed a knowing, gentle smile at me. "It's mostly a formality. You've already been granted temporary citizenship, bound to that Scroll, for now."

He jabbed his index finger at the device I'd just casually set down, thinking it wasn't mine to keep.

"Wait, you mean—"

Pietro flicked his cap and smiled knowingly.

I grinned ear to ear and picked the Scroll back up. I held it out from my body, almost giddily eye-screwing my new toy.

"It's the standard civilian phone model, nothing horribly special."

At this, I gently rolled the phone up and then tucked it into my pocket. I stepped forward, leaned over and gave the kindly old man a hug. He let out a quiet 'uff' into my ear, clearly a little surprised. 

"It means a lot to me. Thank you so much, Pietro."

He awkwardly pat my back from where he sat. "It's uh, nothin, really. I got it for free from requisitions. Perks of the job, you know? Especially since you're going to be my assistant, I figure you'll need it."

The old man's scent washed over my nose, a sort of rustic, wooden musk. It was comforting; he smelled a little like—

Well, let's just say he smelled like home.

I pulled away from the old man and palmed my new Scroll back out of my pocket, twirling it idly in the air between my fingers.

"Speaking of assisting?"

"Still working on that part. Citizenship was the easy part. The sort of interview you're having on monday isn't actually really needed for Atlesian citizenship alone."

I leaned back onto the kitchen counter, curling my fingers underneath its steel lip. I felt the cold, sharp edge underneath the rolled metal digging into my skin.

"Clearance, I assume?"

Pietro simply nodded. I looked at the kitchen tiles and bit my lip.

"I just have to ask, Doc, again. Why help me?"

"My answer ain't changed since the last time you asked. Just the right thing to do."

I narrowed my eyes. I still got the feeling that the good Doctor was holding back a lot. 

And I hated that feeling here too, even moreso.

☾◯☽

I drew the shades of my bedroom open, noting the Remnan sun poking just barely over the horizon. The Atlesian sky was so beautiful. Clear as the waters of the lakes I used to fish in back home, in my old stomping grounds. 

The steady drone of the air conditioning clicked on as the temperature in the room started to lower. I was actually pleasantly surprised to discover that this fancy upscale apartment, located on the edge of what locals called the 'Ivory District', owing to its pure white towers and extravagant accomodations, had independent temperature controls for each room.

I tended to have unpredictable temperature needs, and I was almost certain they'd end up clashing with the clever old man who was also in residence. Or maybe not.

I was clad in only the underwear I brought up from Mantle with me--simple cloth numbers, in basic colors like greys and whites. Though I resolved to remedy the, erhm, _lingerie_ situation as soon as I had some money.

The door chimed gently, signalling me that the good doctor had already awoken.

"Just a moment!" 

I raced past the bed, swiftly picking up a bathrobe and throwing it on. I practically slapped my palm imprecisely on the pad and was grateful I had somehow managed to hit the control marked 'open door' instead of the one marked 'thermostat'.

The door slid open with the hissing of air and before me was that friendly old man I'd grown maybe a little too accustomed to seeing.

He smiled.  
  
"It's a lovely day, Sarah. Why don't we have our breakfast on the terrace?"

"I'd love to, Doc."

☾◯☽

I'd gotten dressed, ensuring to tuck the erhm, nethers a little tighter than usual. I usually didn't do that, honestly. Didn't need to.

The 'terrace' evidently referred to the porch that I'd sat on a few times, watching the flying cars go by. There was nothing quite like the shining city of Atlas back home, and I privately hoped the novelty would never wear out.

Of course, I'd volunteered to make breakfast again but Pietro had evidently ordered out, which was surprising.

He said he wanted me to try some things from the other kingdoms... Mistrali beans, Vacuan-style toast... which honestly seemed more like 'Texas Toast' to me than anything else, but with a little more kick to it. There was even sliced fruit in there from Menagerie. 

It was all delicious. 

"So— do you have any good stories for me today, Sarah?"

I swallowed a mouthful of some sort of strange kiwi-like thing from Kuo Kuana. 

"Hmm? Oh. Actually yeah, I might. Not one of my own, though. This one's from my grandfather."

Pietro stuffed a fork into his more basic, Atlesian egg and scooped up a piece of it. 

"Your grandfather? What did he do?"

"Well, for the time relevant to my story, he was a soldier. Career military, though he did initially get pressed into service, erhm, drafted. Specifically he was a communications officer, in something called the United States Air Force. He was stationed over in this country called Vietnam for two or three years in total."

"Why was he there?"

"He spoke a language called French. I- I guess in this world it's called _Valois_? The same language was spoken in that country. Used to be a colony, of sorts. I hope I don't have to explain that word. Point is, he was a translator in addition to a radio operator."

"Do you speak Va— Erhm, French?"

"Only a little."

He wiggled a fork playfully in my direction. "Shame, might come in handy if you ever visit, mon petit lamourx."

"Lamourx?"

"Valois term. A young, spirited woman. Used to be used erhm, crudely. But these days, folks seem to use it as a compliment."

"Hm. Then I guess I'll take it as such." 

I bit into a piece of that Vacuan toast and wolfed it down before continuing.

"Always loved spicy food."

"There's a fine Vacuan restaurant not far from the pharmacy. Too spicy for my taste, but they do have a seniors menu. Maybe we could visit, let you try more of the world's fare."

"I'd like that, I think. Anyway, he was a first-generation immigrant. I was, well I'm sure you can tell by him being my grandfather, I was third-generation."

"Mmhm. So when is this story of yours set?"

"It was during something called 'The Tet Offensive'. A nightmare, the way he told it. He shared a foxhole—"

"Foxhole?" Pietro cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I guess you could call it a camp but it's a hole dug into the dirt and way more dangerous. They were generally only found in times of war, like one-two person trenches?"

"Your people's history of war seems even more entrenched than ours."

"I wish it wasn't. Anyway, the man he shared the hole with, a well, he was from a different culture—Ashkenazi, we called them. They believed in, well, I'll leave that part for later."

"Which religion of your people's was it?"

"Erhm, Judaism. Don't think we've talked about that one yet."

I filed a note away to have a chat about Pietro with that later, if he was curious.

"He was quiet. Barely said a word, and spent most of his downtime reading the Torah, a erhm, important book to them, one of a few. But despite, or, maybe because of his faith, the man was a brilliant soldier."

"Really? Friends with your grandfather?"

"Not really. But you're friends with everybody on your side, when it comes to the battlefield."

"Mmhm." 

"They were stuck in this foxhole for 4 days and nights. Constant raining, neither side could see each other so the fighting had stalled out. The foxholes on both sides flooded constantly, but they couldn't retreat, because the enemy was less than ten feet away."

I paused a moment, taking a sip of some orange juice from Vale.

"On the 5th day, the man unexpectedly started talking to my grandfather. After 4 days and nights of complete silence, in the worst conditions, during the worst part of the worst war that they'd ever known. You know what he said, on the day the skies cleared?"

Pietro seemed hanging at my words. Used to my dramatic storytelling by now, he was still just listening.

"'Stare down the tsunami, behold the strength of the world.'"

I exhaled softly.

"'And then show it yours.' After that he recited a poem, I don't remember which one. Just a poem. A few hours later, my grandfather's foxhole was hit by enemy artillery. He survived, only barely. His Ashkenazi friend didn't."

"What was his name?"

"I- I don't remember exactly."

I thought for a moment, racking my mind for what scant few words of my grandpa remained knocking around in there.

"Raf— Rafael Samuels."

"An interesting name."

"Yeah. You know what the craziest part is? It wasn't even his war. He was Canadian, my grandfather was American. He volunteered, my grandpa got drafted."

I stirred my eggs around a little pensively, almost as if trying to use them to divine what I should do next.

"I didn't ask to be here. I don't even know how I got here. I guess in a way, I've been drafted like my grandpa, and my weapons can't even work with the ammo that's here. 20 ish rounds, then nothing left, I'll need to just buy a brand new gun, get used to it all over again."

I looked out across the skyline, my eyes idly drifting between flying skycars and distant hoverbikes.

"Actually, Sarah—"

I looked back over to Pietro, who had his hand atop his head, idly scratching some random itch. By the time he was done, he'd started talking again.

"—that might not be _entirely_ accurate."

☾◯☽

The next day, we returned to Mantle on a morning flight. The sky above was clear and beautiful, and I could even see one of the broken moon's fragments slightly poking out from behind it, on its left side.

Mantle was such an interesting city to my foreign eyes. On the show, it looked beautiful and victorian in styling. Up close, it was like a strange hodgepodge of new and old.

Brand new Hard Light displays displayed every corporate ad imaginable were omnipresent, projected from devices that were bolted haphazardly to ancient, decaying brick. Automated security in the form of public cameras lined every street corner, though there were no surveillance drones that I could see. Cars floated past me, carried aloft on arcane levitation I couldn't even begin to understand.

In a stark contrast from the city above, pillars of smoke rose from many buildings. A dense smog permeated the upper levels, trapped by the presence of the city above. Down here on the street such pollution was mercifully absent and the air remained breathable.

I tried to step off the concrete, into the street, only to be met by a hovercar blasting by at top speed. The wind disheveled my bangs and I squinted into the street. Pounding techno music blasted by in the car's wake as I stared blankly off at where it went. 

_Some things never change, even in Remnant._

I double-checked to ensure the street was clear this time and walked across, to a rather nondescript building, an old warehouse that was about 10 blocks from the pharmacy. Pietro gave me the instructions, and decided I should make the introduction. 

I lifted my feet over the concrete edge and stepped closer to the door of the warehouse. It was a bright red, metal thing that had more paint stripped away than remained. In the middle of it was bolted a hastily-constructed wooden sign, on which was spray-painted the words:

> **SILVER'S SMITHY**
> 
> **MODIFICATIONS - REPAIRS - CUSTOM WORK**
> 
> **FREQUENCY #A54 BFA9 781**

I imagined that that last part had something to do with how the communication system worked here.

When I reached for the door's handle, a strange whirring noise made me pause. The supposedly primitive sign then swiftly folded down. The sudden clatter made me jump back a step.

Behind the wooden sign was a much more modern-looking display screen, and on it was a goatee-bearing face with one mechanical eye.

A terse almost Slavic voice came out of ths speaker, in rough time with the man's lips, though from the occasional buzz and lowpitched whine, it was clear that the hardware had seen some better days.

_"Is late. What you want?"_

I lowered my face to the screen. 

"I was told this was where I could get work done. Smithwork." 

_"Come back morning, I take customers then."_

"I—"

A mechanical whirring came up to my side.  
  
"Figured this old stubborn ox might need more convincing."

Pietro leaned forward into the monitor.

"John, you old ventrat! Don't make me blast this door down!"

_"Pietro?"_

The iris of the augmented eye belonging to the man on the other end seemed to curl inwards, focusing on the face in front of him.

_"Ah, Pietro my friend, it is you!"_

"You gonna let us in or do I have to tell my friend to take her business elsewhere?"

John's eye angled over at me. _"You need work?"_

"I said that, didn't I?"

_"Sarcasm does not grease wheels. First impressions mean much. I don't like you, but I trust Pietro. You come in together, we talk. I do not make many such exception."_

The display winked out and a hydraulic hammer sounded from inside the doorframe. The metal door itself pushed outwards slightly, hinting that it was now unlocked.

"Charming fellow," I openly snarked as I pulled the door open.

"But a master of weapons engineering." Pietro put his hat back on. "And a good friend."

He shot a disapproving glare at me.

I presumed I had just lost some brownie points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Blatant Foreshadowing**  
>  This chapter is dripping in foreshadowing for both this story and the other fic, The Gate to Eternity, plus some future plot threads for the story I have planned that's set after both. No, I won't apologize. I have these plot threads planned out so ridiculously far in advance it's not even funny.  
>   
> But some of this is by the seat of my pants, admittedly. Sarah's story to Pietro, in particular was something of an ad-hoc addition, but I have a general idea of where things are going and I really hope I get there it's really cool and I'd love to share it with you.  
>   
> Rafael will be important later. Also, if you recall [Roberta](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460455/chapters/60860848)? Yeah, she'll be important too.  
>   
>  **Old Soldiers Never Die**  
>  Some of Sarah's story is true from my real-world grandfather's background, but a lot of it actually isn't. I'll leave it up to you to decide which is true and which is false.  
>   
>  **International Cuisine**  
>  There's not enough scenes where people eat in stories. It's a good storytelling tool, and it's also very human.


	11. Convergence, Part 3

Maybe I didn't believe it from the outside, but I bought the man's credentials now. Every inch of his workshop was covered in bleeding-edge tools.

Some of it was in the Atlesian ivory aesthetic, and looked more like an iPod than anything else, while the rest of it was a little older, more industrial looking. The air was heavy with the smell of grease and soot.

I recognized a few of them from my own career back home. A massive industrial-sized lathe was pushed up against the wall. It was well-taken care of, though there were some coilings of loose stripped metal towards the floor, evidence of recent work.

Workbenches lined the entire place, each one playing host to a more ridiculous-looking contraption than the last. One looked almost like a fantastical halberd, and had blank gun barrels laid off to the side of it, others more mundane-looking rifles.

And then there was one, on a table to the left of me that I recognized. A bladed crossbow, vaguely resembling an eagle. It was currently in its deployed form, though it seemed the string was missing.

_I think that's gotta be Robyn's crossbow._

My heart started racing a little. I was trying to be reserved about my fangirling, but at this point, I'd be lying if I didn't say I was in heaven.

I was living through these events from a close proximity. Not close enough to be one of the heroes of the story, but I was closer to it than I could have ever dreamed, and it looked far more real than I wanted it to be.

As I took in the entire space, looking for more weapons that I might recognize, a large, barrel-chested man got up from his seat in the corner and approached me.

Behind him was a bank of the usual cyan Atlesian monitors you'd expect, but the entire desk was messy and disheveled.

Books were piled high on it, and a few tablet-sized Scrolls were resting haphazardly all over it.

The man's former grim countenance quickly faded into a happy grin as he looked myself and Pietro down. His electronic eye darted in sync with his organic one, and I saw that one of his arms was also mechanical.

It was a bright yellow, industrial prosthetic. Battered and dinged in many places, and some of the plating had fallen off, giving it a skeletal look. Its owner lifted it up happily as he cheered at us.

"Paying customers always welcome! Paying customers with friends, doubly so! Come in, come in!"

☾◯☽

He stepped off to the side and pulled out a stool for me from underneath a workbench.

I held a hand up, interrupting him. "You're a gracious host but that's not necessary."

John shrugged, putting the stool back. "Suit yourself, girl."

He leaned back against the same metal table that he'd tried to pull the stool out from under and angled his eyes towards me.

"Like I said, first impressions say much."

He waved a hand out at me.

"You are restrained, polite. Little, eh—"

"Unnerving?"

John put his hand back on the workbench. "Was going to say, little _Atlesian_."

The tone of that last word wasn't the most hospitable, more like he was spitting the word out.

"I'm sorry?"

He banged his metal fist on the workbench, causing the sound of a practical gunshot right next to me.

"The stench of Atlas is on you, girl!"

He pushed away, angrily jabbing a finger at me. I pulled back a little but I remained stolid, staring the man down.

"The sort who brings nothing but elitism down here! Condescending to the last, sneering down from their ivory towers."

Then he calmed down, rolling his palm over. "Yet you seem respectful, not condescending."

He angled his fingertips at Pietro. "Almost humble, like doctor."

John then looked back at me, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "But you do not smell of Mantle like he does either. You don't belong."

"You're perceptive. Well, maybe I am not _of_ Atlas or Mantle." I cocked a smarmy grin, then shrugged. "Maybe I 'smell' of a place you've never been."

John let out a gentle huff, then turned away, crossing his arms. "What brings both of you here, hm?"

"I've got some strange weapons that I need modified and I need there to not be any questions asked about how they came into my possession. Pietro can explain it better, I imagine."

I turned away, looking around at the rest of the shop.

Pietro's deadpan, rustic voice echoed in my ears.

"The girl's got some strange weapons she needs modified and we need there to not be any questions asked about how they came into her possession."

I chuckled a little in response, letting him keep talking.

☾◯☽

"No questions asked? Deals like that tend to get people arrested down here, girl."

From the way the sound echoed, I wagered John had pushed off of the workbench.

"Or worse." The voice sounded closer. A lot closer.

I turned back around, then gasped at the sight of the man's chest being suddenly less than a foot from my face.

I looked up into his eyes, unmoving.

"Is that a threat?"

The man's grimace grew deeper and angrier as he stood there. My heart started racing, but then, he just pulled away and started laughing.

"No, no. I'm kidding, I kid. I am but simple gunsmith, Pietro is good friend. Helped me get back on my feet after that whole sordid thing with Arthur's—"

John suddenly stopped talking, then glanced at Pietro before abruptly changing the subject.

"So, what are we talking? If it's anything explosive, you'll have to take it somewhere else, my large-bore tooling's busted. Can't work on anything over twenty-mil."

Pietro chuckled. "Nothing like that. Small bore, really small bore."

He lifted a palm over to me. "Sarah here's got an auto and a revolver. Same bore and caliber. Problem is, that caliber's off the book."

"Off the book?"

John's orange cyber-eye focused onto me, the mechanical iris shifting size anxiously. "Haven't seen any off-book weapons in years. What sort of museum pieces are you bringing me, Pietro?"

I kept listening to the two old men talk shop, idly trying to absorb every piece of jargon I could. 'Off the book' must mean that [Blue Book](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513859/chapters/51280612) thing I read about, the standard calibers of Remnant.

"They aren't too far off the book. Close to the ten-mil short, off by about a millimeter."

"Sorry," I interrupted.

"Refresh my memory, what's ten-mil short?"

"You been living under a rock the last 30 years?"

John scoffed, though it seemed Pietro was more patient.

"Ten millimeter, short. Second biggest round you can put into a pistol, it can take down anything smaller than a Beowulf with a well-placed shot. Larger creatures might take more."

John lifted a hand at me. "Lot more. Boarbatusk skulls can take twenty-mil rounds at point-blank range. Only heavy town guns can break those in one hit."

"They do seem kind of tough. Never run into one."

"Pray you never do, girl. Your head would get crushed by their jaw like egg between metal press."

John slammed his fists together dramatically, then held an arm upright, jabbing it into the air.

"Tusks the width of my cock, and twice as long!"

The man chuckled at his innuendo, though I was less than amused.

"Me, on the wrong side of a Grimm's teeth?" I shook my head. "No, I was planning on drinking myself to death."

John laughed. "Hah. I like you, girl."

I cocked my hip and placed a closed fist on it. "So what's the stopping power against something smaller, like a human?"

"It'll put a man in the ground easily." He glanced at some of the other, crazier-looking weapons lining the workshop on benches and hanging in clamps. "But no bullets'll save you if you're fighting a Huntsman."

After this, John looked at Pietro again. "Bore too small or too big? Will cost more if it's too big. Lot more. Better off buying new gun, more."

"Too small, and not even by much. About a millimeter, like I said."

"And who's paying?"

"That'd be me," Pietro replied, itching his side.

The old man then put his arm back onto the chair and looked up at me.

"After this, she'll have to pick up her own tab, though, if she wants anything more."

He winked knowingly and I could have sworn his other eye twinkled misceviously a little.

☾◯☽

John's cybernetic eye scanned every inch of the interior of _La Petite Mort_ , holding the slide back.

"Is strange weapon, true. 'Glock' is no smithy I know. Basic by Huntsman standards."

" _Questions._ " I tersely warned.

"Yes yes, I know."

He put the weapon's slide forward, then gently depressed a lever on the side. From where I stood, I heard a little click as the weapon decocked.

"I can maybe do revolver. Smaller one, no."

I cocked an eyebrow. "May I ask why? Just out of curiosity."

"Autos janky. Do not take rechambering well."

He held the ejection port of the gun up to me, then pulled the slide back, showing

"And this one, clearance tighter than coin purse of Mistrali merchant. Silver eye does not like, pressure will not allow cycle."

Pietro put a hand to his chin where he sat. "I was afraid of that."

"So it'll jam too much, basically?"

Pietro simply nodded.

"Your pistol's gas operated, like—" He abruptly stopped himself.

I figured he was about to say 'like our firearms'.

"Like the rest of them. It could be modified, but it'd be very expensive. The entire mechanism would have to be replaced with custom parts."

"You come to me ten years ago with Huntress license, maybe I say yes."

John decocked the gun again, then laid it on the workbench.

"But no, no. Not even for right price."

"Why ten years ago, but not now?"

"You are civilian, and young. Not surprised you do not know details."

John scratched his head. "There was standard published, years ago. Huntsman Order allowed funding, eh, grants, to rechamber oddball weapons to closest standard or at least fund building of new weapon. Now, funding dry. Unless you pay, gun must retire."

"Ah, you're talking about that Blue Book thing?"

Pietro shuffled a little in his chair, chiming in.

"The idea was to streamline supply lines across the board, force Huntsmen and Huntresses to use ammunition from a specific list, or, you know, they wouldn't be able to get supplies.

"Problem was, there were a lot of weapons with nonstandard ammo that needed to be converted or replaced. So, like John said, there were grants back then to encourage folk to standardize."

"I see." I turned back to the smith. "I was a little attached to the little one, but I'd honestly just be glad to have any working weapons at all."

"Yes, any gun is good to have in Atlas. Dangerous place."

"I'm starting to learn just _how_ dangerous."

Pietro tapped my wrist, getting my attention. "I'll wait for you at the apartment. If you like, and if John doesn't mind, you can stay here.

He glanced off to the side almost shyly. "I know how _personal_ these things can be."

John's silver mechanical eye angled towards me as he pat my revolver gently.

"Modifications will take few days, actually. Mind leaving 'er here?"

"That's fine by me. Pietro trusts you, so I do."

☾◯☽

In the late hours of the night, we stepped back out into the streets of Mantle. Pietro started walking back off to the pharmacy, and I lagged behind him, alert, if lost in thought.

I didn't know how long the work would take to be done, but at least I still had _La Petite Mort_ and a few of my old world rounds with me still, if worse came to worse.

I looked up and beheld the vision of Atlas from below. There weren't very many sights like this in the show that I remembered. We always saw wider shots, or the camera just never angled up at it.

It was hauntingly beautiful, even from the ground. Purple rings, I imagined to be some contraptions with Gravity Dust, lined each inverted dome.

The largest in the middle, right under Atlas academy, had an internal ring that was mostly dedicated to academy and military support facilities. I saw _Condor_ -class transports patrolling the donut-shaped perimeter, and the sheer vastness of it all just filled me with awe.

Twinkling stars, an ocean of life and work lined the inside of the ring, and in the very middle was a massive pylon, an extension of academy far into the 'ground level' of Atlas. Docking bays and medical facilities transitioned to support systems and power systems as my eyes traced down to the Great Umbilical, the central anchor point for Atlas.

Less an anchor and more of a support line, each cable shuffled power down to Mantle and ensured quick communication, though Pietro explained earlier that there was a massive firewall between the two cities, owing to the former's outdated information security systems.

"Why didn't they lift Mantle with Atlas too?" I asked, still staring up at the web of cabling.

Pietro slowed down a bit, letting me catch up to him.

"Back in the day, Mantle still held a lot of economic responsibility. Seagoing vessels were still in use, a lot more. Nowadays, trade is done by the air, so, the docks down here have been mostly shut down for years."

"Leaving Mantle in poverty," I concluded.

"Mmhm. As it stands, Mantle has to beg for handouts from the upper city to even keep the lights on."

"So, lifting Mantle up with Atlas, that's impossible now?"

"Maybe not impossible, but a tremendous undertaking."

"And I take it the authorities would prefer to have another battleship or ten instead."

Pietro said nothing, and just flicked the brim of his cap. I took that as a 'yes'.

I outwardly sighed.

_I guess some things never change._

◀⬤▶

_Roberta walked down the street beside me. Cars flooded the streets of Boston, each one looking more battered than the last._

_We walked by a begger, clinking a tin filled with coins, hoping we'd stop and give him something._

_I stopped, leaned down and stuffed a ten-dollar note into his can._

_He leaned forward, grabbing my wrist and patting it._

_"You're a good woman, thank you."_

_He let go and I pulled away. I saw some of the dirt on his hands came back on my wrist._

_"I wish I could do more," I said sadly._

_"But you did something." The old man looked into my eyes. "That would be enough."_

_Roberta and I keep walking. Past boarded up stores and shattered windows. Past concrete and stone left to decay._

_She turns to me. "I'm thinking about going back."_

_I cock an eyebrow at this. "Re-enlisting?"_

_As she nods, I catch her brown eyes looking down._

_"I'm glad I met you, you know."_

_"You are?"_

_"Mmhm."_

_We arrive at an intersection. She taps the crossing button with her knee and leans up against the stoplight's pole._

_"There aren't many civilians who'd understand that."_

_"There aren't many civilians who want to serve, but were barred from doing so."_

_"I know." Roberta grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes. "But there's lots of ways to protect people, you know."_

_"I know." I let go of her hands. "But none I want to pursue."_

_The crossing sign finally changed from 'don't walk' to 'walk' and I tersely crossed the street, assuming Roberta was following me._

_"These people don't_ **_deserve_ ** _me."  
_

_"You're better than that, Sarah. At least, I hope you are."_

☾◯☽

My old world abandoned me. Actively worked to destroy my rights and liberties. Hatred filled every space I entered, and for the simple reason that I didn't 'belong'.

I somehow passed perfectly now. Don't know how, I don't even remember getting half the procedures done that my body apparently had done, but...

But I'm still hiding, just in a different way now.

I turned to Pietro.

"Doc, there's something important you need to know about me, something that I need help with too. It's a little urgent and life or death, as well."

"Oh?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Legal matter or economical?"

"Neither, actually."

I stopped on the sidewalk, glancing at the pharmacy sign in the distance.

"It's a _medical_ matter."

◀⬤▶

 _"I know you want to fight, Sarah. And I'm sorry they won't give you the chance to_ _."_

_"Maybe it's for the best. Maybe the only reason I want to fight is because I just have a death wish."_

_"Death is just the last breath before the next. If you want to fight and protect your people, you should be allowed to do so in this life."_

_"And what if I don't get the chance in this life?"_

_Roberta said nothing in response and just smiled at me.  
_

_"Maybe you won't." She sighed._

_"This is my war, Sarah. But it's yours too."_

* * *

_Converging isn't always the-_ **e̷̡͏̕͟n̨̢̛͜͠d̸̷͘**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter marks the end of the initial set-up arc of the story, _Learning the Rules_ and now we're getting into the leadup to the Vytal Festival. The next arc, entitled _Before the Fall_ , will be the depiction of everything that happens between this point and the opening ceremonies of the Festival, and will take place over two or three chapters.  
>   
>  **The Broken World**  
>  Sarah's home timeline, while superficially similar to ours, is very different. The differences will be highlighted as we go, but suffice it to say, a lot of things have gone wrong. It is a _possible_ timeline, cautiously extrapolated from our own, but it also a little bit fantastical in its nature.  
>   
>  **Blatant References**  
>  Yeah, I love treasure planet. Sue me. In my defense the story it's based on is way older and RWBY already uses literature from around the same period as inspiration for a few of its canon characters. Technically speaking, Treasure Island is also public domain. Also, if I remember correctly, Long John Silver wasn't Russian.  
>   
> One hundred percent original, blyat.  
>   
>  **Atlas 'Donut'**  
>  There's a lot of the design of Atlas and general layout that isn't really made clear in what we see of it in Volume 7. From the concept art, the sheer scale of the city is _huge._  
>   
>  Whole swaths of it aren't even on the surface!  
>   
> Underneath Atlas Academy is like an "under"-academy that protrudes into this massive ring lined with uncountable windows, what look like docking bays, and more. It's crazy how much there actually is under there, it's like the size of the freaking Death Star.  
> 


	12. Bare Your Fangs

_Stare down the tsunami, behold the strength of the world._

* * *

Pietro sat before me, manipulating the controls on the medical chair that I was resting in. The electric humming from the bright lighting above my head drowned out the sounds of the fans and machines.

"So. To go over this again, you were not born female, biologically speaking."

I brushed a strand of my bangs that was just a little too long out of my eyes. 

"Correct."

"And in your world, you were put on hormone supplements to change this, yes?"

"Mmhm."

He scratched his bare head idly, then adjusted his glasses. After a moment, he looked back at me with those soft, brown eyes of his. He smiled.

"Yeah, that's not a problem." 

I cocked an eyebrow at this. It's always nice to be accepted for who I am, but it was a problem for me, so I was anxious to hear if he had solutions.

This was my tenth night in Remnant. I had 3 days of pills left.

I grabbed my wrist absentmindedly as I bit my lip. "What options are there?"

"A few." 

Pietro pulled away from the bed. His chair whirred softly as he pulled himself behind his desk terminal. He tapped a few buttons on it, then waved his hand, beckoning me over.

I pushed off the cushion, and walked over to have a look at the screen. It was displaying a 3D representation of a strange curved object. It tapered to a point, and seemed to have a number of other wires on it.

"Doc, what am I looking at?"

"My first recommendation. Called a Hormone Regulation Implant, or H-R-I. Used to be just used for soldiers, yknow, training fight-or-flight responses, regulating stress levels so they make less bad calls."

Doctor Polendina pulled away from the screen, then gestured at it with an open palm. 

"Few folk like you've been using it in recent years. Still an experimental program, but pretty promisin'. As the name points at, it's a biomolecular regulator, synthesizin' what's missing from existing proteins an' such, fed to it by the body itself.

"You'll have to keep to a somewhat healthy diet, but it doesn't impact your biochemistry all that much outside of what it puts in."

"That already sounds miraculous for someone like me. I _—_ how much does it cost, though? I don't have any insurance."

Pietro shook his head a little in confusion, lifting his shoulders.

"Insurance?"

I pulled away.

"Yeah, you know, like _—_ do you guys not have medical insurance here?"

The doctor narrowed an eye at me a little. "Sarah, I don't know what in the name of the Lord a' Light you're talking about."

I sighed. 

"How do you guys pay for things like medicine or, like, those fancy cyborg arms I've seen people walking around with down here?"

"Oh." 

I crossed my arms. "I sense this is something commonly known, but can you enlighten me, Doc?"

He grinned and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Uhm, we don't generally, have to _pay_ , exactly _—_ " 

"And by 'we', you mean _—_ " 

Pietro coughed. "Almost everyone, though some people are prioritized over others. We don't really have much of a thing as insurance when it comes to simple medical procedures.

"Most basic treatments are covered, prescription costs. Folk are generally guaranteed a certain level of access to healthcare. Grimm attacks and all, especially, are given priority, but at least Atlas, we have a very good health system.

"Whole facilities under Atlas dedicated to that alone, and folk fly up there from Mantle every day for it. At least 3 transports I know fly into the inner ring every day carrying patients, and a few more are on standby at Mantle General to fly critical care patients up there if they need to."

I pursed my lips and looked into the corner of the room, just trying to find purchase on something that wasn't Pietro's kind eyes for a moment.

"That being said, Sarah."

I turned back to the Professor. 

"This sorta thing _does_ generally cost a fair bit. A thousand five-hundred for the device itself, though surgery costs are usually waived. Soldiers and Huntsmen get it at a discount, just gotta fill out a requisition."

"What do you mean, 'generally'?"

"I mean" _—_ he pushed away from his desk, and started walking to a nearby bookshelf _—_ "That you being transgender is a unique case. It's an experimental program, like I said, but it seems to be stable and works just as well, if not better than more conventional hormone therapies."

"In fact, there's a few transgender Huntsman and Huntresses with this implant. Think they also make use of its combat features, though the best I could do for you is a civilian model, tailored for your, erhm _—_ "

He glanced back at me briefly.

" _—unique needs_. It's also gonna be provided to you for free, since it's a medical study, though you'll need to have regular exams done. Part of the contract, you know."

"And the other option?"

"Free Hormone prescriptions for life."

I paused a moment, biting my lip.

_Finally, some good news._

"I'd be willing to try the implant, though I'd need some _—_ "

"Mmhm. Prescription to get you through? I can write and fill it for you."

"Really? I thought you were just a cyberneticist."

"Cyberneticist? My dear girl, I'm a man of many talents." He pulled his cap off from his lap, fitted it onto his head, then flicked the brim like I've seen him do so many times before. 

"A veritable polymath!"

He then reached across his chest and massaged his shoulder a little sheepishly. 

"And some would say a massive pain." 

I snorted a little. "I dunno, you've done nothing but right by me. Who'd be your kind of enemy, Doc?"

Pietro didn't say anything in response. I frowned.

He coughed. "That being said, the surgery and implant tuning is something I'm not qualified for. I'll put you in touch with the colleague running the study."

"Oh, what's their name?"

"Ah, a certain Doctor Redding. Good friend of mine. I'll send her public frequency to your Scroll."

☾◯☽

I don't think what happened next, anyone could have seen coming. I certainly didn't.

I was on the roof, in the cool Mantle air, enjoying the night as I often tried to. Sure, the air was polluted and a little sooty, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world. At least the stars could be seen, and it was clearer than any night I could see back home. 

Up in Atlas, it was even clearer.

I tucked my head into my knees as I sat, resting. The concrete roof beneath me, though unshod of snow and ice, felt cold on my cheeks. 

Yet a moment later, my entire body ran cold. 

A cracking boom, behind me. Close, but not that close. 

And from below.

My heart raced as I leapt to my feet, scrambling for the roof access. 

My combat boots pounded down the stairs, passing the door to the apartment, and then reaching the ground floor.

I rounded the corner, then pulled back rigidly at what I saw in the pharmacy, my breathing accelerating as my back flattened against the wall of the stairwell.

Then a voice called out to me from behind the wall. Masculine, rough. Like a dried-out gym sock slapping against my chin.

"I know you're there, bitch. Come on out."

I softly exhaled, then stepped slowly out into the light. In front of me was a masked man.

He was holding one pistol at the good Doctor, who glanced quickly between myself and the armed thug. My eyes darted around the room, as I took stock of the situation.

Two men. One woman. All armed. Black clothing. 

Closest _—_ pistol, glowing. Small.

Didn't know enough about energy weapons yet to figure out how big of a threat that one was.

Then a rifle and revolver, both normal-looking.

My focus was then drawn to the strangely tribal patterns dotting the masks, in red paint. 

_I think I know who these people are._

I held up my hands, and shook out my hoodie, a little unconvincingly. "I'm unarmed."

The woman spoke up, her voice a little hale and panicked.

She pointed that energy pistol at me, and my heartbeat reached a hare's pace.

"Thought you said the Doc lived alone!"

"Guess I was wrong, get her down!"

The woman walked closer. I put my hands behind my head submissively.

"On your knees, bitch."

My heart was pounding out of my chest, but s[▽](https://i.imgur.com/lUjiAYk.png)mething inside of me was pushing back my anxieties. I couldn't say what it was.

And I could have _sworn_ I heard music. Drums. Pounding and pounding in my head.

The woman kept barking orders at me and that only made the drums pound louder.

"I said, _on your knees_."

I looked across the thugette's shoulder, over to Pietro. He raised an eyebrow as he trembled pathetically.

I angled back, staring the masked woman in the face. My eye twitched.

I leaned in as close as I could as my shoulder muscles tensed up, then whispered to her.

"You should have worn a proper helmet, dear."

☾◯☽

The woman reeled from the sudden impact. Ringing in one's ears from a nice elbow clap would do that to you.

I used the moment of stun to kick at her ribs. She tried to lift her pistol back up at me, but I forced its barrel down with a hand. 

Glad I was right. Untrained thug, so precise application of force was unnecessary. 

I tensed my thigh and struck into her groin, again making her cry out in agony.

I rushed forward, holding her gun hand down. I hooked my arm underneath hers, pinning her against my body. She struggled, but then I gripped her forearm with my dominant hand and yanked upwards.

Her screaming told me her shoulder had been at least dislocated. In the pain, I grabbed down at her right hand, easily wrenching the loosened gun out of her broken form.

I twisted her around, then held the blaster up against her skull.

The woman cursed and sputtered in my ear.

"Fucking- Holy shit- Fuck you, bit _—_ "

I coldly spoke into her ear. 

"Silence."

The man spoke to me, the one who was clearly their leader.

"So, we both have hostages, and you're still outnumbered two to one, at least."

I angled my head over the shoulder of my own captive, and shot a scowl at the leader of the trio.

" _My_ guy has an Aura. You shoot him once, he lives."

I twisted the barrel of the pistol into the woman's scalp, and she whimpered a little.

"But her Aura isn't up. I can _feel_ it."

The other man, the one that wasn't the leader, he was looking more and more anxious by the moment. 

"C _-_ C'mon, Terry, this ain't worth it. We can find another _—_ " 

The leader tersely backhanded the other guy. "Don't use our real names, you fucking moron."

_Ah._

"White Fang, right?"

I pushed a little closer, still holding onto the lady Fang. 

"I'm sympathetic to your cause, so I'll give you a deal. You take your girl, get the hell out of here. I'll even give you a head start before we call the cops. I mean, they might be on their way already. And in that case, every second you delay costs you big."

"Or what?"

I narrowed my eyes, glaring, as my tone reached a sinister lilt. "Or this gets very messy, very fast."

The leader angled his revolver at me. My hand tensed up a little.

"You don't even know how that thing works, do you?" 

"Point and shoot. Easy enough, just because it's an energy _—_ "

The thug then chuckled.

"The safety's on, dumbass."

"Oh? Well _—_ "

I pushed the barrel of _La Petite Mort_ into the woman and turned the safety off with a click. The man's irises widened slightly at the sound as the corner of his lip twitched. I believed the message to be clear.

"Yeah, this other one isn't. Final warning, freedom fighter: cut your losses and go."

He snarled, almost like a tiger. Savage.

"Fine." 

He lowered his revolver and made for the door. He paused just before the threshold, looking back at me, who still held their friend hostage.

"Give us our girl, then."

My trigger finger twitched as my anger rose.

**Punish them.**

I exhaled, then practically punted the woman forward into them. I lifted my other arm up, pointing both of the weapons out at the thugs.

I flicked the barrel of the energy pistol towards the door.

"Go on, then."

The leader pushed the door open and all three of them fled into the night. I lowered the two weapons to the ground.

Pietro looked at me, then sighed. My breathing started to slow as what happened started to sink in. I braced myself on the medical bed, as I'd started to wobble a little, feeling weaker than usual. 

"Calm yourself, Sarah."

My breathing quickened briefly, before settling back down again.

"That sort of thing happen" _—_ I took a sharp breath, steeling myself against whatever the hell I was feeling _—_ "often?"

"Nope, but it's been happening around Mantle a little more often, I hear. Local White Fang, they've been acting, hm, strange lately."

"Yet you still keep the pharmacy open."

"Giving into fear is what they want." He paused for a moment, before I heard a click and then whirring as his chair started moving. "Think it's time to lock up for the night."

"Agreed."

Pietro approached a control panel next to the door, one I'd figured to be the pharmacy's security system. I sighed, pushed up my bangs and laid a hand on my forehead, as an iron gate dropped down over the pharmacy's entrance and windows. The electronic lock on the door engaged, and we were safe again, for the moment.

I turned around, making for the stairs.

"I'll head back up and make dinner."

I paused at the landing, turning back. "Reheated leftovers alright?"

"Sounds just fine, dear girl."

I smiled a little wearily and strode up the stairs, still holding the energy weapon in my right hand. My hands were cold and I still felt my heart racing from the adrenaline.

It was going to be a restless night, I knew it.

* * *

_And then show it yours._

_― Rafael Samuels, c. January, 1968_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >When some Faunus boyes think they've got your number, but then hickory dickory dock, the Earth girl pulls out a glock.  
>   
>  **The Usual Suspects**  
>  I won't apologize for using the White Fang as props. This is around the height of their power, after all. Adam hasn't really taken over yet, so these are really just an isolated group of thugs looking for an easy knockover and targeted an elderly Atlesian for it.  
>   
>  **Laser Guns**  
>  The "Your safety's on" cliché has two big variations, both of which I had in mind when writing the moment where Sarah has a hostage.  
>   
> The first is, the safety actually is on and it's just a cheeky way to demonstrate superior knowledge of firearms, or for comedic purposes. The second one is something of a subversion, and the safety actually _isn't_ on, and it's just a distraction to get the edge on a clueless opponent.  
>   
> This version is kind of a double subversion. Yeah, maybe the safety's on, maybe it isn't and the dude's just lying to her. Problem is, Sarah doesn't know for sure, so she decides to cut the knot on the problem by pulling out her own gun that she actually _knows_ how to use instinctually.  
>   
>  _However_ , she _also_ hadn't racked a round yet, so there's a lot of zig-zagging there. Despite her intent, she's still kind of bluffing.  
>   
>  **Utopian Medicine**  
>  I may be depicting Remnant as a veritable medical utopia here, but there's a reason for it, and it's not political. I do have the belief that access to healthcare should be free and guaranteed, at least at basic levels, but there's a pragmatic reason in the AI-verse's version of Remnant, a reason I don't think got across entirely clearly in the first scene here.  
>   
> It's pretty cheap to take care of your citizens when whole swaths of them tend to be regularly culled by shadow monsters that only a small portion of the population can effectively fight. Grimm don't tend to leave a lot of wounded when they come through, and it's important to maintain safety and stability, without spreading disharmony. People fretting over how they're going to be able to afford their prescriptions, extended to a large scale, will draw in the Grimm. At first in trickled numbers, but the problem of there being a snowball stress effect once they start attacking is a real concern.  
>   
> Keeping people happy and feeling safe in Remnant is therefore a matter of national and international security, so funding and civilian oversight for medical systems and public safety is disproportionately high (at least compared to America in the 21st century, the Kingdoms may actually be closer to Europe in this area, but also exceed them in a few notable ways).  
>   
> The police are also held far more accountable in Remnant than they are on 21st century Earth, for the same reasons. And no, despite current events, this is not politically motivated either. It's a pragmatic response to an emotional problem.


	13. Trust but Verify

After that fight, I'd started to remember more. A few more memories, pushing up from the abyss.

I remember my early life was spent moving from place to place.

My father, he was an Air Force mechanic. We moved where the planes went, and I never really learned how to make friends very well. Many of my friends were just other kids like me _—_ the sons and daughters of career soldiers. Friends I'd surrender on moving away, like I always did.

I was fifteen when my father died. It was a routine equipment move, should have been. He wasn't even supposed to be there. His truck got hit with an IED outside of Sather Air Base. 

His buddy survived. My dad didn't. Then, five years later, my mom died of a heart attack.

Only twenty years old, and I had already lost everyone. 

I couldn't seem to die.

I wasn't like them, I could never get into the military, the way I was. All because of my _identity_. I didn't know how to fight, not really. I always was prepared to defend myself, though. Especially being trans, I felt like being strong and safe was more important than anything else. I took up hobbies like self-defense classes and spent more time shooting paper than I'd be willing to admit.

But I wasn't a soldier.

Still couldn't remember anything else, how I got here. But like I said, I was starting to remember most of my story now. Not really sure why the first thing I remembered was RWBY and Pietro though. Well, that, and Roberta's face.

_Roberta._

Maybe she ended up here with me too? 

Hah. 

☾◯☽

I heard mechanical whirring and clanking coming up the stairs. I figured that Pietro was done closing up, and I had set out some plates on the table already. When he rounded the corner of the upper floor landing and walked into the apartment, though, he had only a grim expression on his face.

"Sarah, I need you to come with me. Leave your weapons, and everything else."

"Why, what's going on?"

"Just, erhm, do as I say, please."

☾◯☽

I followed him down the stairs, into the alley. A black car was there, waiting. Floating on a cushion of air and seemingly running. I heard the thrumming of the gravity drives and my heart started to race.

"Pietro, what have you done?"

"Nothing. I just want you to meet someone."

I chose to trust him, for the moment. But part of me was concerned that, despite what I _thought_ I knew about Pietro, I had failed to judge him correctly. I was worried that I was about to be taken to meet whatever the Atlesian equivalent of the NSA was and tortured for the secrets of another world.

I approached the passenger door of the car, my breathing growing faster by the moment. I took a breath, trying to calm myself. 

"Where are we going, Doc?"

"The Slums, dear girl. Can you help me get my chair into the trunk? It does most of the work, but it's, eh, a bit difficult to get it to cooperate from the driver's seat."

☾◯☽

The car smelled like old leather and coffee. 

I turned towards Pietro, shifting a little bit in my seat anxiously. "This beast have a radio or something? Does Remnant even have radio stations?"

"That it does, my girl."

He reached to the center console of the car and tapped a few controls while I watched. 

"Good way to get the news out there in the tundra or call for help, back in the day. Nowadays, with the CCTN up, they're mostly just good for local news or music."

I looked to the control panel and saw an AM/FM toggle, much like cars back home. That was a little surprising, but not entirely unanticipated. Remnant seemed similar to home in a lot of ways.

A smooth-talking man came over the waves, the current disk jockey for whatever station Pietro had loaded in last. 

_"Goood morning Mantle!_

_"This is your shaker of truths, and minister of culture, deejay Rouge speakin'. You folks all remember Lizzy Mane, frontrunner of Valebourne, right? Well, seems that after she took her last ride some months ago, someone looking a lot like her has been spotted in Vacuo._

_"Not a lotta weight to this rumor, but if you find yourself round those parts, keep an eye out. Might be an old ghost rocking out in the sands or maybe just a mirage, but with this crazy Grimm world we live in—"_

"Who's Lizzy Mane?"

"Don't know, Sarah." Pietro pulled the wheel to the right, turning a corner. "Know Valebourne is one of those newfangled metal bands the kids like. Heard the lead singer died some months back."

"Hm." 

"Why do you ask?"

I reclined back in my chair, a little crestfallen. 

"I mean, if I'm stuck here, shouldn't I at least familiarize myself with your culture?"

"I'd start with a Mantle Jazz club instead."

"Take it that's your favorite genre?"

"Yes ma'am!" He gave off a little salute in my direction, before looking back at the road.

We spent the rest of the drive talking about music.

☾◯☽

The city was absolutely massive, and overcrowded to hell. Mantle itself was about the size of maybe New York, back home, but with twice the population. If every Kingdom's main city was like this, it would explain why the people in Vale were so desperate to expand, and explained why keeping the Kingdom's safe was so important. 

Why Ironwood would sacrifice a ten million to save _a hundred million_ .

Why I'd seen maybe two heavily militarized cops since I'd come here. Tiny force, overworked. Ready for a civil war in a town the size of a pin. Least it made me feel welcome, felt familiar to how things were back home, towards the end.

My thoughts drifted to what I knew lay ahead. The Breach. The Fall of Beacon. All the other chaos that comes with it. How many lives are lost in all of that? In the cold, brutal equations of Ozma and Salem's war.

We drove for what felt like hours to me. I looked at the clock in the car, and it seemed to be late. The hovercar only lurched to a stop when it turned 9:47. Newer Victorian buildings gave way to broken down hovels and factories.

I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings too much. It all just kind of blurred together after the first hour.

"Gotta walk from here."

Pietro turned towards me and powered the car down.

"Hop out."

He stepped out of the car, popping the trunk and summoning his chair to him. I stepped out myself and took a look at the scenery.

The wind caught my ears first. I hear the distant groaning of metal, straining under the burden of age and the clattering of old industrial machinery. I see rusted, broken dwellings cobbled together from every scrap material imaginable, and people walking between them.

All of this was on the edge of a crater larger than any pit or hole I've seen before. An acrid pool of water sat at the bottom, industrial runoff from operations that are on a scale I couldn't even imagine. I looked up, and the wind grabbed my hair, blowing the black locks behind me.

I figure my bangs were also horribly messed up by the torrent. It kept happening.

This was the closest I had been to the underside of Atlas. I could see all the way up into the torus, and even the start of the industrial zones beyond. A small frigate undocked from the inner ring and started to descend into Mantle. Countless other docks were filled, though a few were unused and the hive of activity up there was overwhelmingly complex.

I imagined an army of Atlesian air traffic controllers up there, coordinating the entire mess from wherever they worked. Shuffling folders and flight plans around, working to make every docking request and resupply maneuver as safe as possible.

The sheer vastness of the sight almost gave me nausea.

I heard whirring and clanking as Pietro started walking again, and he patted the small of my back, getting my attention.

"Come on now, Miss Hill's waiting for us."

I blinked twice as the name registered on my consciousness.

"Wait, you can't mean _Robyn_ Hill?"

All he did was flick the brim of his hat and kept walking. I followed him down into the crater, tucking my arms close to my body in the frigid, smoky night air.

☾◯☽

We walked among twisted metal and twisted bodies. I saw the signs of poverty everywhere. The people here seemed to be heavily augmented. It felt like every other person I saw had mechanical arms or ocular devices.

The entire place was filthy and broken-down. No vehicles crossed the half-built bridges and walkways in this narrow shantytown. Melting ice made the earth here muddy and soggy. The entire area smelled of lilac and raspberries.

Kidding, sorry.

Actually smelled like the opposite of lilac and raspberries—kerosene, chemicals, sludge, soot and some other awful things I don't want to mention.

The citizens that lived here were the ones trapped in an existence of work and sleep, with long shifts and even longer SDC quotas to fill. A lot of them were desperate, and desperation brought crime. It was a fact of life, and without my guns I felt utterly naked and horribly exposed here.

I glanced over at him. Though I was on the verge of a panic attack, he seemed utterly calm and relaxed. That was when it hit me.

Pietro wasn't afraid of these people because they loved him. He kept them able to work, cut deals other cyberneticists wouldn't. He made sure their families could have food on the table when nobody else would.

My arms pulled away from my torso a little as my breathing slowed, though I couldn't help but wonder _—_ was I just another charity case to him?

☾◯☽

Pietro finally stopped at a metal tube, more of a shack or shanty than anything else.

I looked to my side and saw a couple walking with their hands together. They seemed happy here, despite their conditions, chittering to themselves happily. 

Their garments were tattered, and one of the women had a fluffy fox tail poking out from under her tunic.

They spoke in a foreign language that sounded vaguely like Arabic—or maybe a Slavic language?

I was privately cursing my decision to not learn a second language now. 

My attention was grabbed by the sound of pained groaning as Pietro tried to push his way out of the chair. I turned back around, gently placed a hand on his chest and smiled warmly, moving to the door in his stead.

"You don't gotta do _—_ "

"Just let me start helping you, Doc, like you've been helping me."

He sat back down calmly and scratched an itch on his hairy forearm.

"Well, I appreciate it. Maybe we'll make a good assistant out of you yet. Just bear in mind, I ain't totally decrepit yet."

I smiled at him, closing my eyes as I held my hands together behind my back. "I will try to remember that."

I then lifted a closed fist up to the metal door. Briefly, my eyes searched the rest of the front wall for something resembling a doorbell. Having found none, I decided to follow through, rapping my knuckles on it.

I winced a little. The cold metal was far more sturdy than it looked. 

A gentle contralto came from the other side. 

"Coming!"

That was _absolutely_ Robyn's voice.

I remembered what her Semblance did as we stood there, and my heart started to race a little again. I turned towards Pietro, but before I could ask him what his intentions were, the door was suddenly yanked open.

Then _—_ and admittedly this is a cliché, but it _is_ how it felt _—_ my heart downright skipped a beat. 

Before me was a beautiful, tan-skinned woman with platinum blonde hair. Her eyes were an iridescent violet and her bangs fluttered in the low wind softly. She wore a forest green tank top, with tan sweats. My eyes traced every line of her biceps and forearms, and I saw clear beads of sweat across her skin. 

She'd clearly been working out, and the smell that wafted into my nose from her residence was sweet and homey, with an almost verdant, forested quality to it. Reminded me of those big pine wood forests back home. Girl seemed to appreciate air fresheners.

"So" _—_ Robyn pulled a bottle of water up to her mouth and took a long drag off of it _—_ "you must be the Doc's new Girl Friday, yeah?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The homoerotic tension is _palpable_ , and I don't apologize for it. I swear there's not gonna be _any_ shipping any of my OC-centric fics, at least not between my OCs and Canon Characters. It's a personal rule, actually.  
>   
> Either OC x OC or Canon x Canon. No in-betweens and no crossing the streams.  
>   
> (For the purposes of my fics, I put characters that I base on background or one-note characters into the OC category, as they're functionally that.)  
>   
> Robyn _is_ highkey hot tho. Would let her give me a bear hug, and she'd call me on my bullshit constantly.  
>   
> ... Somebody please love me.  
>   
>  **The Face Grows to Suit**  
>  Sarah is fundamentally a brutal deconstruction of the [Fixer Sue](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/FixerSue) and [Mary Tzu](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MaryTzu) archetypes. She may _come across_ as a brilliant, [Incorruptible Pure Pureness](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/IncorruptiblePurePureness) sort of completely infallible character in her interactions with Pietro, but in reality, it's a mask she wears, one that only rarely drops, but cracks more and more as she survives longer in Remnant, until shattering completely.  
> She constructs an air of aloofness around her as a defense mechanism, even deliberately invoking the idea of the "Yamato Nadeshiko" from Japanese culture. Thus the blunted haircut.  
>   
>  **It Goeth Before the Fall**  
>  Sarah's fatal flaw is Pride, and that will confound her at every turn. It's the reason she acts so dignified and composed around Pietro, and drives a lot of what she does. It takes some hard lessons to let go of it, and it never fully leaves her.  
>   
> It's also the main reason you can't take her narration at face value. Everything is open to interpretation, of course—but while she ends up being right on certain points, she's entirely and _tragically_ wrong on a few important ones.  
>   
>  **The Tragedies of Scale**  
>  While this may diverge from what some people take as canon, I've assumed that Remnant is the same size of our Earth, due to its similar gravity, climatology, etc. The most _notable_ differences is the presence of the Grimm, and Dust. While the existence of Maidens is also a note and plays into the differences, as well as Oz and Salem, those individuals don't generally make _as_ massive of an impact on overall society as those two prior factors.  
>   
> While discrepancies in gravity and climatology can be explained away by "lmao it's magic the Brothers just made it that way" I feel like that doesn't really suit the _tone_ that the writers set and it's just kinda, I dunno, _lazy_.  
>   
> It's very much a "the magic died and we're stuck with the Remnants" (see what I did there) setting, and a planet can't be held together by magic glue if the magic glue is falling apart at the seams.  
>   
> Though, at the same time, the 'magic glue' falling apart might explain some of the weirder biomes. Even I'm not 100% on this, but I've decided to stick with this interpretation to give the world a sense of _vastness_ and _danger_ , making the defense of the kingdoms that much more important. It's a gritty AU, but not one that's totally grim _dark_ , bleak, depressing, overwrought in its darkness and utterly without hope.  
>   
> Some people may disagree, and I'd like to hear others' interpretations, but I'm not writing _Warhammer 40k_ here, nor am I writing a sappy everything's fine story like My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.*  
>   
> RWBY's biggest theme is that the world is gritty and falling apart at the seams. It isn't the same as a fairy tale, but you _don't_ have to accept that. That just means it's up to us to make it that way. I think that's a lesson we can all get behind.  
>   
> (*Not throwing shade at 40k or MLP here, I actually really like both.)  
>   
> 


	14. Pressure Points

"So" _—_ Robyn pulled a bottle of water up to her mouth and took a long drag off of it _—_ "you must be the Doc's new Girl Friday, yeah?"

"That I am." I feigned what little of a curtsy I could with my jeans.

"Though I'm also not quite sure why I've been dragged here."

I shot a confused glance at Pietro, who just subtly shrugged.

"Gave Robyn a call a little while ago. You'll find out why in a sec, Sarah."

Robyn then winked at me. "Come on in, guys. I was just wrapping up a workout."

Robyn pulled away from the door, and it was there I was able to get a good look inside her place. The broken down, scrapheap exterior belied the surprisingly well-kept place within.

Weapons and tools were spread about, hanging along the walls, and work tables in various degrees of disarray were scattered around.

Robyn practically trotted a little deeper into the house, into a small room off the main one that I presumed to be the kitchen.

An old, ratty-looking couch was positioned before the small hive of computer monitors, each one displaying a different feed. Some of them were news broadcasts, and I actually felt like I recognized one of the anchors.

A tiny cot in the corner was covered in unmade sheets, and an opened bag of what I presumed to be chips or trail mix was laying on the pillow, next to an inactive, collapsed Scroll.

On the other side of the room, I heard a crackling fireplace. A strange mix of nasal inputs washed over me. The whole place smelled of oil and smoke, yet it was clear that she tried to cover the heavy scent with air fresheners.

Then there was the delicious _musk_ that came from the woman herself, though I was trying not to dwell on that last one too much.

As for the amazing-smelling Huntress, I heard her lilty tones come out from the kitchen. 

"I just put on a kettle, but can I offer either of you a beer? Something else?"

I clasped my hands together behind my back. "No, thank you."

"Pietro?"

"No, I can't drink fluids except water after 9, Robyn. You know that."

"Yeah, but I just like to make sure you still know that, lumberjack."

Robyn chuckled a little from the kitchen. "So where's this new girl from?"

I shot a glance at Pietro and mouthed 'Lumberjack?' at him. 

He just smiled at me and shook his head before responding.

"Girl here's from out of town, Robyn. Way out of town, eh, Vacuo. Sorry I didn't give you all the details earlier."

Robyn stepped back out from the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea. She leaned against the doorframe that was part of the wall separating the kitchen from the main room, and took a cautious sip. 

She bit her lip and looked almost flushed and blissful at the taste. 

"Tagwood Tea, fresh out of Kuo Kuana. They know how to do their tea down there. Sure I can't offer you two one?"

I shook my head.

"Eh, suit yourself. It's getting late, anyway. We should just get started."

Robyn rounded the corner of the couch, set her tea on the coffee table, then fell into its cushions a little flippantly. She crossed her legs and settled in, before looking me over.

"Pietro, from the way you described her, I don't think _this_ " _—_ she waved her hand up and down my body _—_ "is _quite_ what I was expecting."

I put a closed fist on my hip. "What were you expecting?"

"Black lipstick, fishnets. Lots of lace. Some ridiculous sounding name like 'Ebony Darkness', not _'Sarah Sable'_."

She smarmily used air quotes around my name and shrugged.

"Well, I'm wearing _no_ lipstick, blue jeans, _nothing_ I own is lace, _my name is absolutely Sarah Sable_ , and I'm _really_ starting to wonder what in the name of the _moon_ I'm doing here."

Robyn chortled, almost choking on her Tagwood tea. 

"Fair enough. Sorry, kid. I've been holed up here a little too long."

I crossed my arms. "Pardon, but _—_ why are you all the way out here, anyway? You are a fully trained and licensed Huntress, are you not?"

Robyn took a sip of her tea, then sighed. 

"There's some people, high-ranking corporate _tools_ , up in Atlas who want me dead for speaking out when I shouldn't have."

Robyn laid down her tea on the coffee table, then laughed.

"You ask me, though, I think at least one's just mad about me stealing their matrimonial beds from 'em!"

_Oh. She's gay too. Blessed moon, kill me already. My heart can't take much more of this._

"Police can't help you?"

"Police?" Robyn cocked an eyebrow at my inquiry, then glanced off to the side almost wistfully, then turned back to me.

"Yeah, the police here are more about keeping order than keeping people safe."

I was quiet for a few seconds. I bit my lip, then glanced aside myself. 

_What has been will be again; what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun._

☾◯☽

She clapped her hands on her thighs, then leaned forward, looking at me. 

"So, did Pietro tell you what I can do?"

"No, but I actually kind of" _—_ I bit my lip a little, swaying indecisively _—_ "Yeah, I kind of already know."

"Is _that_ so?"

I nodded. She stood up, holding out her arm. 

I exhaled, trying to keep myself calm. I knew how this was about to go. I don't really have anything to be worried about, as I had nothing to hide, at least, nothing that Pietro told me he wanted to know. 

I reached my hand out and grabbed Robyn's forearm. She did the same, locking her fingers around me. I feel a warmth surging into my hand, and my Aura swelling and shifting, meshing with Robyn's. It felt oddly intimate _—_ and frankly, a little discomforting.

It was here that I finally got a good look at my own Aura, as it was interweaving with Robyn's lilac one. Pietro was absolutely right, it was black, but the energy was ringed in a faint shimmering white that was almost impossible to see if you weren't close up to it.

Robyn's own shimmered in the same way, but in a different color, a darker purple. It was an oddly mesmerizing pattern. It shifted and coiled and rolled over itself, like—

_Like ocean waves._

She stared into me with those amaranthine eyes of hers, and I couldn't help but comment on them. I mean, we didn't have eyes like those back home.

"You know, my favorite color is purple."

I bit my lip. "So, your eyes are _entrancing_ to me."

"Really?" She leaned back a little, pulling on my arm and chuckled into the smoky air. "Honest _and_ a flatterer. Well, at least I don't have to ask you that baseline now."

"How's this going to work, anyway?"

Pietro stepped closer with his chair, navigating around a massive green beanbag chair that had been pushed against the couch.

"She'll ask you a few questions I prepared for her, then I'll show a few to you with my Scroll in blackout mode _—_ the eh, more private ones."

Robyn shrugged, lifting my tensed wrist slightly. "If it were anyone else, I'd pry more about those questions and demand full transparency, but I trust Pietro."

She then looked into my eyes.

"So the first question, a known falsehood, one Pietro gave me already. Are you a Huntress?"

"Yes," I say. 

Robyn bit her lip, thinking for a moment.

"Right, that's a lie, yep. Do you have military training?"

"No."

"Also a lie. No, truth. Wait _—_ No, I don't really know how to read that."

I cocked my head, a little confused. "Is your Semblance normally unreliable?"

Robyn shook her head and kept on with the next question.

"Have you ever served in a military force?"

"No."

"Hm, I actually don't know how to read that one either."

Robyn glanced over at Pietro, before continuing. 

"Next question, have you ever _desired_ to serve in a military force?"

"Yes."

"Truth." She glanced at Pietro.

"How many more questions are there?" I asked, growing a little more anxious.

"Ten." Pietro tapped another button on his Scroll. "There's ten more things we need to know."

☾◯☽

The rest of the questions were more or less what I was expecting.

Some other ones, like 'are you the vanguard of an invasion force', typed out on a Scroll and held up in front of me, were less expected.

I had no idea how well I was doing. The room felt hotter than it did before. My eyes were darting around the room, trying to find anything other than the gorgeous purple-eyed Huntress to look at. Sounds I didn't notice before were crawling their way in. The electronic whine of the computer in the corner. The occasional warble and chirp coming from the displays behind me.

"We're on the home stretch, now _—_ last four questions," Pietro mused.

"Right," Robyn said, gently nodding.

"They're the hardball ones."

I steeled myself, preparing for the worst.

Robyn tilted her head up slightly, looking at me from an angle, almost melodramatically.

"Have you ever felt loss?"

"Of course I have."

"Truth. But be specific."

"Lost my mom when I was younger, my dad. Most of my family. Don't really have anyone left."

"Truth. Have you ever married?"

I gulped slightly, and I'm not really sure why. "No."

"Lie. _Why_?"

"I don't _know._ "

My voice was growing more harried by the moment. My legs tensed up as my heart raced. I wanted to bolt out, but something kept me rooted to the floor.

"Truth. Do you have children?"

_Enough._

I yanked my hand away from Robyn, who let out a displeased scoff.

I turned to Pietro. "Are my answers to your satisfaction?"

"Actually, yes. I feel a lot better now _—_ "

I said nothing further, and just stormed towards the exit. My breathing accelerated. I needed air, something. I needed space. Time. 

_Time._

_How much time was I missing?_

I pushed my way outside and slammed my back against the metal walls of Robyn's hideout. A Faunus man with short antlers on his head jumped a little at my sudden breakthrough into the street, before keeping on walking like he hadn't even seen me.

The cold metal on my back was actually a good grounding rod for me, and I gripped my legs, closed my eyes, and tried to control my breathing.

 _S͏om̡etḩing'̸s̛_ _n͞o̶̕͡t̕_ _r͜͜i̡͠͡g̵͢h҉̷̛t̴̛͜_ _._

☾◯☽

The metal door to the right of me groaned open as my breathing started to slow. Mechanical legs pushed their way out. 

"You alright, girl?" 

I sharply exhaled, still rattled. "No, Doc. There's things I haven't told you."

Pietro shook his head, then leaned a little to his left. "Well, I know _that_. But it seems they might be things that are harder for you to talk about."

He dusted his cap off, beating it against his hand, before clapping it on his head.

"Things that ain't just visions of our future."

He started to walk past me, and let the door clatter shut. "Figured we'd need to talk in private. I already apologized on your behalf to Miss Hill, for what it's worth, having to rush out like that."

"Actually, Doc, I'm mostly alright now. We can talk later, let me at least say goodbye and apologize for myself. Probably the right thing to, I think."

"Alright, girl. I'll wait for you, at, ah, there's a, ah _—_ a bar around the corner. I'll wait for you there, then we can go back to the car when you're done."

I nodded, and his chair clanked and whirred off down the street, with him astride.

☾◯☽

I dragged the door back open, then walked back into Robyn's hideout.

"Hey, ah, Robyn?"

Her glowing cheeks poked out from the kitchen and smiled. "Forget something?"

"No, erhm."

I absentmindedly grabbed my arm and lowered my chin.

"I just wanted to apologize for running out like that. Usually not something I do."

"No, 's alright, friday." She stepped out from behind the wall, then walked a little closer to me. "The truth is always a hard thing to face. You're not the first person to run away after I use my Semblance on them."

"There's more to it than that, but thank you for being understanding, at least."

"No problem."

Robyn put a hand on her hip and cocked her head at me. "Hey, you got a Scroll? How about we exchange frequencies, maybe go out for a beer sometime."

She leaned up against the wall, then crossed her arms, looking at me almost like she were 

"I can give you a tour of Mantle."

"Yeah, that'd be nice, actually. Here, uhm _—_ Sorry, I've never used one of these before. Give me a little while to figure out how to add you."

I palmed at my hoodie's pocket, feeling for the square object. 

"You really don't know how they work, friday?" 

Robyn smirked and whipped out her own Scroll, a newer Atlesian model with a completely holographic screen. The standard Atlesian cerulean glow lit up along its edge as a transparent, hard light display swept out from its side.

_Gotta get me one of those._

"Where you been living all these years?"

"Someplace that doesn't have these," I mumbled.

"Village out in the sticks?"

"Something like that."

Finally, I fumbled the slightly older Scroll of my own out of my pocket, then pulled the handles apart a little haphazardly. 

Robyn was clearly unamused by my struggling. "You know you don't have to drag the sides apart like that, you might actually end up breaking it. I've done it before, sis."

"Wait, what? But it's a Scroll, don't you, like, unroll it?"

"No, it's gravity-assisted. See the little yellow button in the bottom grip?"  
  
I idly rubbed my thumb over the button in question.

"Oh, that thing?"

"Yeah, just hold it down and then flick it. Give it a try."

I pushed the two handles back together, then did as she said. The other end whipped right out, and the screen flickered to life in the middle of the empty space between them.

"Huh. So that's how it works. What's your num _—_ erhm, frequency?"

"Mantle frequency, bee-two-three, ay-bee, six-eff. One, dee, zero."

I blinked at Robyn. "Sorry, uh, can you say that again, but a little slower?"

☾◯☽

I didn't know how I got here, nor if there was even a way back. Honestly, though? Even if there was a way back, I don't think I would have taken it, even back then. I didn't really know who I was, or _cared_ so much about who I was _—_ so becoming Sarah Sable, it was alarmingly easy.

But there was more to it, more to all of it.

I'd been given everything I ever wanted, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being stalked by something. Something slow and weary, like it was taking its time. No matter how fast I went, it kept its pace. Plodding forward in my own footsteps, matching me meter for meter.

The closer my memories got to what I believed to be the present, the more scattered and fractured they were. There was more underneath those rolling waters, so much I had forgotten. So much maybe I _wanted_ to forget.

Flashes sometimes crept in, breaching the surface of the waters.

A steel tower. A home I can't place. Faces without name or context.

It was all there, like scattered notes for a song I couldn't remember how to play.

If I only knew back then.

Then there was the name I'd taken. _Sable_. 

Diana and Ariana.

I was a sister and a daughter of a dead family, wearing the clothing of a dead woman. I didn't even know the whole story, Pietro hadn't told me yet. Said the interview coming up was more about the _recent_ past, my own story. To not worry about _their_ story.

But that night, I still sent a prayer up to the moon, in the hopes that I wouldn't be asked questions I didn't know the answer to. 

The next day, I was to make the trip up to Atlas. Pietro had to stay in Mantle and watch over the pharmacy, and I was still penniless, so I would be taking whatever passes for a public transit system here.

Thankfully, it was free, but I reasoned that if this so-called "Inter-City Transit System" was anything like the buses back home, I should probably take my gun with me and leave early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any of you were wondering why Pietro felt oddly trusting of Sarah before this, well. There's that for you. He wasn't trusting her from the very beginning. He kept tabs on her, was watching almost _everything_ she did. By this point, she's been in Remnant for just over a week, it took time to line up private verification.  
>   
> In the meantime, he had other reasons for letting her in out of the cold. He decided it was important to keep a close eye on a potential threat that knows about Salem, in addition to a few other reasons that will be revealed later. Fundamentally, Pietro is the sort of brilliant man with a kind heart, a person that will "trust, but verify." _If_ Sarah was telling the truth, that made her a problem, and keeping her close meant that Pietro could reduce the chances of any unfavorable outcomes, or her doing something stupid, like blabbing to everyone in Mantle about it.  
>   
> I also went back and rewrote a large amount (about two-thirds, at least) of the very first chapter in this story, _Exposed_ and plan to do the same with a few of of the other earlier chapters when I have time. It's a lot better, I recommend checking it out. It also establishes some important details about the character that come up later, but I didn't really have in mind at the time i wrote it.  
>   
>  **Need To Know**  
>  This may be partial AU already in that Pietro's already been cleared to know about Salem, well before Winter and Penny canonically were brought up to speed. Essentially, before the story started, Pietro actually discovered strange patterns in the Grimm, and started asking questions about the true nature of the Grimm.  
>   
> Rather than having a brilliant, rogue scientist sniffing around and making a stink, Ironwood's predecessor as Atlas Academy's Headmaster made an executive decision and brought him into the loop. It's an issue Ironwood inherited, but he's privately fine with it, and councils with Pietro often.  
>   
> Doesn't directly contradict anything on-screen or in the other canon media, as far as I know, but it may be contradicted later. (I kinda doubt it, though. We'll see in Volume 8 and 9.) I will write a scene discussing this later, and one was originally planned during the earlier chapters, though it got cut for length. For now it's just in my notes.  
>   
>  **Scroll Frequencies**  
>  Yes, I even have notes on that.  
>   
> They're really similar to IPv6 addresses, in that they use hexadecimal formatting, but they're also much shorter. I even have region codes, notes on how calls and transmissions are routed, and even a few testing and debug addresses.  
>   
> A typical Scroll frequency is structured like this:  
>   
> (Region Code)+(District Number) (Subdivision) (Individual)  
>   
> So, for instance, you have Sarah's frequency: A+487 7A13 CCB. 'A', the region code, means it's an Atlas-registered frequency and will by default, route to Atlas. There are fifteen unique region codes, with additional expanded specifications that may allow for up to 255.  
>   
> If she's outside of the region for any reason, a No Carrier error will be sent back by the CCT towers in Atlas, from debug frequency D+111 1111 111.  
>   
> 487 is the district code for the Atlas Ivory District, where Pietro's Atlesian apartment is located.  
>   
> Main reason why Remnant uses Hex instead of Decimal? They _also_ use Quaternary optical computers. I don't worldbuild on half a tank.


	15. A Frank Evaluation

Downtown Mantle, early the next morning. I'd packed my purse with the essentials, grabbed an old, ratty day pack from the bottom of the closet that Pietro had allowed me to use, and stuffed it with water bottles and some snacks, along with my Switch and a few other things.

Afterwards, I set off into the street, looking for the transit station, something the locals called the 'GUS'. It took me a little bit to figure out that they weren't talking about a man named Gus, but rather, a building.

Ground Umbilical Station. The GUS was the only way up to Atlas without taking an airship. Fully automated, centrally controlled trams running 24/7. 

I was taking the 5:45 to Atlas, the very first train up, to avoid most of the people. Then, my appointment was mercifully at 8:00, though, I had to be there at 7:30. The interview would last about an hour, then I'd be taking the 9:45 back down to Mantle. 

Had it scheduled out perfectly in advance, planned out down to the minute. Downloaded maps of Atlas and Mantle onto my Scroll, a few weeks ago, and now I was trying my best to familiarize myself with the layout of it all. 

The city's scale was immense. Even Mantle's 'Downtown' District, where I was, crossed almost a mile in width. Most of the buildings were packed tightly together, presumably to make warming them a little more efficient, or sometihng like that.

After almost ten minutes of walking alone on the dark, early-morning streets of Mantle, I'd finally found my way to the base of the GUS. No matter how much brickwork and concrete I walked past down here, nothing about Mantle ever seemed quite right to me, but the GUS took that otherness to a whole new leven. It looked like it absolutely didn't even _belong_ down here. 

I trailed my eyes up to the sky and beheld a dark-colored steel spire, piercing past the low fall fog that covered much of Mantle during the warmer seasons. A vast, asymmetrical assemblage of open, blackened steel frames and equally blackened plating, it clashed horribly with the much older, more victorian-looking buildings surrounding it. Towards the top, it grew more and more slender, until only a single square point remained.

At its peak was the endpoint of an obscured—but still somewhat visible through the cloud cover—ray of cerulean that ran the length up to Atlas. I couldn't see where it ended, though. As I was looking, the ray of light at its top completely disappeared, as if it was _generated_ on the fly instead of held in place.

A massive airship floated overhead of me next to the top of the spire, almost the size of an aircraft carrier. Flanked by a dozen escorts that looked like tiny ravens from down here.

The formation was heading southwest from the city, towards Vale.

I turned back down to the front doors. On them, the glass doors had white lettering vinyled onto them, which read 'G.U.S.'—at least I knew I was in the right place for certain now. Next to the handles, they also said 'pull'. 

I made sure to make note of those now, to avoid any repeats of my first interaction with the Doc.

Pietro told me he used to take these, back in the day. Not so much anymore, as they're really very slow and can be filled with dangerous people at certain times of day.

Even if I was traveling with my gun, my hands still shook as I reached forward, pulling the glass doors to the station open.

☾◯☽

When I stepped inside, I was greeted with what I more or less expected. A frail-looking humanoid robot with silvery plating—definitely not an Atlesian Knight, but a domestic model I didn't recognize—sweeping the tile floors. Despite that, it had the same emotive display the Knights had.

The floors themselves looked ancient. Many of the porcelean tiles were broken, others were filthy beyond recognition. Some of it looked to form a symbol or an emblem of some sort, but what it was, I couldn't really identify from where I was standing.

The robot turned towards me, and flashed a smiley-face onto its screen. 

_"Good morning, ma'am. Welcome to the Mantle GUS. I am ADR-5219B. May I be of assistance?"_

The voice was rough and low, robotic. Yet it also sounded a little—well, for lack of a better word, _strained_. As if the speakers providing its voice were damaged or old.

"Yes, actually. I'm here for the 5:45 tram?"

_"Through there, ma'am."_

19B straightened up, turned to the left, then pointed at a set of sliding doors just in front of me.

"Thank you," I said as I walked past him.

_"You're welcome, ma'am. Have a pleasant day."_

☾◯☽

As I stepped onto the tram, a feminine, gentle, and yet quite terse AI voice spoke to me.

_"Good morning, and welcome to the Atlas Inter-City Transit System."_

Immediately, I thought back to a video game I'd played as a kid. What was its name? Couldn't remember.

Regardless, I chuckled and cracked a joke to the empty tram car.

"Morning, Miss Sable. Looks like you're running late."

The AI didn't laugh, or really do much of anything in response, so I assumed it was more of a canned announcer than anything else.

I looked around the tram, and it was more or less what one would expect of such a thing. Most of the surfaces were a steel composite, designed for hardy, long-term use, but some of the trim was in the standard Atlesian ivory.

 _Won't be long til the train gets moving_ , I reasoned.

I sat back into one of the seats, which were luckily soft and covered in a sort of vinyl, each one plastered in black with the emblem of Atlas Academy. Underneath each one were the words "Strength - Duty - Knowledge".

I imagined that must have been the motto of the academy.

At 5:45, perfectly on time, the doors slid shut with a pneumatic hiss. I crossed my legs apprehensively and braced myself for whatever came next.

_"This automated tram is provided freely for the convenience of all citizens of Atlas and Mantle."_

The tram then shuddered, starting to move upwards into the spire itself. I looked out the windows and saw the actual station, located at ground level, move away fairly slowly, and most of the spire itself went by in a blur.

_"In order to maintain a safe, healthy, and respectful environment for all passengers, no smoking, eating, or drinking is allowed on the Atlas Inter-City Transit System."_

_Feel almost bad for chain-smokers. How long is this ride? Like, an hour, hour and a half?_

Mechanical parts and Dust conduits, steel scaffolds. Instead of looking outwards, I decided to look around the tram a little more. Much like home, the roof section contained a wide variety of advertisements.

One of them was advertising an airship called the "Ronan Shipworks Light Aeromobile", and another was playing the same advertisement for Schnee~Cola on repeat. Another, advertising domestic robots made by a company I'd never heard of called Starhead Industrial. Similar to the one I met, B19, but way newer and shinier-looking.

 _"Today's date is_ — _Monday, June Sixteenth, year Two-Hundred and Four of the Twelfth Era. The time is_ — _zero-five-four-seven hours."_

☾◯☽

The tram shuddered to a halt, and I heard an electrical whine coming from above me. A moment later, a flare of pure white, then a flare of blue light lit up the tram's cabin, and I heard metallic groaning and clanking from the same area I heard the electrical whine.

 _"This tram is_ — _inbound_ — _from_ — _Mantle_ — _Ground Umbilical Station to_ — _Academy District Station."_

I _thought_ that was the purpose of that beam of light before, but now I kind of understood. The tram can ride on both Hard Light and normal (at least from my perspective) rails.

The clanking I heard must have been the tram switching over to the Hard Light rail. Quite clever. 

The tram eventually shuddered and moved past the uppermost point of the GUS. From this point, I couldn't see much. Much of Mantle was covered in fog, though the tips of the buildings still poked out from the thick blanket, as if in defiance of the weather itself.

As if in response to my internal observation, the announcer started talking about the weather.

 _"Current Mantle surface temperature is_ — _Two Hundred and Seventy-Three-dot-Twelve Deviations, with an estimated low of_ — _Two Hundred and Sixty-Seven."_

I looked out the front window of the tram, and could finally see where this line was headed, now that I was past the low-lying fog. The cerulean beam ran diagonally, along the left side of the tram car, and shot up, connecting to the tip of the larger dome on the underside of Atlas, the one that had what looked to be air vanes or fins running along its main cylinder.

_"Atlas surface level and all interior sections of the undercity are maintained at a pleasant Three-Hundred and Fourty Deviations at all times."_

Checking my Scroll, I could see almost 7 minutes had passed. I shoved the collapsed Scroll back into my pocket, then pulled out my Switch from my day pack and settled in.

 _This is going to be a long,_ **_incredibly_ ** _boring train ride._

☾◯☽

Almost 35 minutes later, the tram was finally approaching the underside of the dome. I could make out finer details now. Whatever those fins or vanes were, I could see dust (not the magical kind, _actual_ dust) and snow rushing inside, and reasoned they must have been intakes of some sort.

Above the intakes was a circle of round arches, rim-lit in purple. Beyond, I could see lit-up windows and even people moving around between them. I reasoned maybe this was the life support dome that fed and conditioned the city's air itself.

_"Some subspecies of faunus may experience discomfort or develop health concerns upon the sudden transition between climate-controlled zones."_

Soon as Link ran out of parachute and fell to his death on my copy of _Breath of the Wild_ , the tram slowed down as it began to approach the tip of the cupola, then clanked and shuddered as it switched over to a normal elevator rail. From here, I couldn't see the fins anymore, and it seemed I'd be moving up through the intakes, or perhaps—and this was more likely—in my own dedicated tube.

The tram car jolted upwards and began to ascend.

_"If you or someone you know experiences serious health concerns due to the transition, please travel to the nearest medical facility for an inspection, and make regular trips between Atlas and Mantle to maintain thermal equilibrium."_

Seems that even the faunus are more complicated than the show depicted. Made sense, I guess. If the humans were only hating the faunus for only having the differences of cat ears or a tail, they'd need to get their eyes checked.

_"Your comfort, regardless of species of origin, is important to us."_

I scoffed, then pressed the continue button on my Switch.

_I've seen the mine slums, that's a lie._

☾◯☽

A full eighteen minutes later, and a the tram suddenly lurched to a halt again. I heard metal grinding against metal above me, and hydraulic pumps pulling to the sides. A blast door, maybe?

_"If your intended designation is a classified or secured area within the Battlespire or another high-security area within the Academy District or Undercity, you will need to return to your point of origin during regular operating hours and board a high security tram._

_"Please be prepared to provide Physical, Scroll and biometric identification upon boarding."_

I kinda wished this tram had a see-through roof. If the universe was going to bombard me with what effectively was a long string of borderline-pornographic landscapes and expository pre-recorded nonsense, I at least would have liked to have seen all the machinery around me.

The tram rose up through whatever gap was created, then linked up with another rail along the top of this area, which seemed to be a wider tunnel, closer to the surface.

_"Interested in becoming a Huntsman or Huntress? Study at the city in the clouds and become a fully-licensed member of the Hunter Order at Atlas Academy._

_"Would you like to know more? Contact admissions at frequency number alpha-alpha-alpha, one-four-bravo, zero-one-eight-seven."_

_"Atlas Academy: Strength, Knowledge, Duty."_

I chuckled. _I'm doing my part!_

At least, I wished I was. I'm no Huntress, really.

 _"If you believe you or someone you know would make a valuable addition to the Atlas Academy support team, immediate openings are also available in the areas of_ — _Dust Handling_ — _and_ — _Low-Clearance Security._

That was more my speed. The B-team, security guard, whatever. I already had a job—er, well, _kinda_ —though.

_"Please contact our civilian recruiting team at alpha-alpha-alpha, five-two-seven, delta-three-two-three for more information. Atlas Academy is a non-discriminatory employer."_

Finally, the tram had managed to clear the sprawling complexes underneath the city, and pierced its way into what seemed to be a train station within Atlas itself. Through the glass panes, I could see almost thirty people milling about the platform, way more than I had down in Mantle. 

_"Now arriving at_ — _Academy District Station."_

I wondered why people would be commuting back down to Mantle from Atlas for a moment, before stuffing my Switch back into my day pack hastily, hoping nobody saw it. Weird tech from another world? Yeah, no. It may not look that different from Remnant tech superficially, but it looked nothing like a Scroll.

_"Please stand clear of the automated doors and wait until the tram has come to a complete stop. Before exiting the tram, be sure to check your area for personal belongings."_

I slung the pack over my shoulders, putting an arm through its single strap, then started to stand up as the train slid diagonally down, to the edge of the platform, on another projected rail. 

_"Thank you for using the Inter-City Transit System, and have a very safe and orderly day."_

☾◯☽

Luckily, I didn't find the immigration office too difficult to locate. Atlas seemed to be arranged a lot more deliberately than Mantle, whose district layout could be described as haphazard, at best—and downright chaotic, at worst. Presently, I was in a white-walled room that was more or less what your standard interview or meeting room would be. 

Metal table, four walls, a sci-fi sliding door. I took an uncomfortable white plastic seat, across from the door and bided my time by reading through any public information I could on my Scroll. Lots of things were available to sate my curiosity. Cities of the Kingdoms, public newspapers, etcetera.

Seemed Mantle and Atlas were the only two cities in Solitas, though. No villages, so much as there were tiny outposts and research labs. There were a few villages in Vale, but the most villages were found in Mistral.

My combat boots were resting on a grey, vinyl floor—I'd fought the urge to rest them upwards on the table, as the wait for my interviewer was proving to be _long_.

Finally, the door slid open, and I beheld the visage of a man with squared glasses, a white, clean-pressed, unbuttoned suit with a blue dress shirt, and navy blue colored tie, and then blue dress gloves on his hands. Pressed underneath his arm was a large, tablet-sized Scroll, and I could see bits of light flickering across his glasses.

His closely-trimmed goatee was a jet black. His hair was the same color, folded off to the side in a sort of precise, clean-cut part. His skin was an ombre tan, and the entire appearance reminded me of a middle-aged hispanic man, even if he absolutely was a completely different ethnicity, from another world entirely.

He didn't wear a pocket square or a vest, unlike some other upper-class individuals I knew of that lived here. This man worked for a living, clearly.

"Good morning, Miss Sable. My name is Frank Fieri."

He adjusted his glasses by pushing the sides up with his unused hand. 

"I'll be doing your interview today."

"Well met, Mister Fieri. You're not quite what I expected."

Frank took a seat in front of me, then laid out his Scroll.

He removed his glasses, then tucked them into his suit pocket. "And what were you expecting?"

"From the name, frosted tips, maybe? A cheeky catchphrase? Maybe a love of flavor and spicy foods."

"Spicy foods, you mean like, Vacuan cuisine?" He chuckled a little, shaking his head. "No."

"You sure? I bet you'd be a _great_ food critic if this whole immigration officer thing doesn't pan out."

"I have ah, an intestinal problem."

"Shame," I dryly said.

He tapped a few buttons on his tablet, then cleared his throat. "So, Miss Sable. You recently arrived in Atlas, is that correct?"

"It is."

"And when was that? I'm going to have to ask you to answer specifically, as specific as you can."

"I don't know specifically when I arrived here, but I know I woke up in the tundra on the third."

Frank adjusted something on his tablet I couldn't see. "You woke up in the tundra? Explain."

"Dunno exactly how I got there. I was traveling here with a group of people from Mistral—from the Argus area. I was trying to get here to meet up with any family I had left, maybe try to settle down. Soon as we were about to get to Atlas, they knocked me out and then just left me for dead. I have no idea why."

"Do you remember their names? Have you filed a report?"

"No. I'd honestly just like to move on, Mister Fieri."

"Understandable."

He brushed a finger up his Scroll before continuing, seemingly going further down whatever sheet he was using to interview me.

"So, I'm afraid the next question gets a little, ehm, personal. I am sorry for this, but we have to be thorough." He bit his lip idly, as if in thought. 

"There's a note here that says you are a transgender woman, correct?"

I narrowed my eyes, a little perturbed at this line of inquiry. Regardless, I pressed forward.

"Yes, I am. The biological sex I was born with does not match my gender identity."

"I see. And if I may ask, how long ago did you make your transition?"

I crossed my arms and scowled. "And why does Atlas need to know?"

"Identity verification is no small thing, Miss Sable. I am very sorry for the personal line of inquiry, and frankly, I wished I didn't have to do it."

Frank sighed, then rolled his neck, as if cracking some tension out of it. 

"I'll level with you, this is a horrendously outdated requirement, and doesn't even factor into your citizenship qualification. Problem is, it's still on the paperwork, so I have to ask."

"Fine." I relaxed a little, though the tension in the room still was palpable. Interrogations already made me uncomfortable. 

"2 years ago, I think is when I officially started hormone treatments. What year is it again, year 204? So, year 202."

"You aren't sure what year it is?"

"I moved around a lot. Time tends to get a little hard to keep track of outside of the kingdoms."

"Mh, fair enough." 

Frank turned back down to his tablet, then mouthed the words 'year two-oh-two' as he typed.

"So, I see your mother is Ariana Sable, a woman who worked in the Atlas Military Laboratories around— Hmm."

He tapped another button. "Around 30 years ago, in the late 60s. Wife of Ezekiel Sable, deceased. A gifted robotics engineer himself, and his wife was an Auralogist, one of the foremost in her field."

"She didn't talk much about her work back here."

"She didn't?"

"No," I flatly stated.

"Hm. And what about your sister, Diana? Recently passed, correct?"

I blinked a little anxiously, but tried my hardest not to show my nerves on my face.

This was the harder part to lie about. Back home, I had a mom, I could easily fill in that sort of relationship, but I had no emotional context for a relationship with a sister.

"Diana and I didn't really get along either, especially after my mom died. She stayed in that damnable village, while I moved into Vacuo itself."

"Oh?" Frank cocked an eyebrow at this, then leaned back in his chair. "And what did you do there in Vacuo?"

"Honestly, whatever I could. Mostly worked as an armorer, dragging busted up warbots and tanks from the Great War and fixing them up in my spare time. Had a friend that helped me with that, a girl named Roberta Peterson."

"You still in contact with her?"

"No," I said, crossing my arms again.

"I left Vacuo years ago, traveling to Vale, then across the sea to Mistral. Wasn't much else out there for me. Took up mercenary contracts whenever I could. Then I got the news a little while ago that my sister had passed away. That was when I decided to come home, see if there was anything worth salvaging."

Frank's eyes turned down a little as he typed in that last part into his Scroll.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Don't be. She's in a better place, I hope." I uncrossed my arms, then laid them on my lap. 

"Is that it?"

"Actually, yes. This interview was mostly a formality anyway, your gene check came through, verifying a close biological relationship to Diana Sable, from the time she was an infant here. With 94% accuracy." 

He then held out a hand, which I accepted, shaking it.

"Damn, your hands feel frostbitten cold," he said, pulling away. 

I gave an awkward glance at my palm, then lowered my hand to the table a little sheepishly.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's fine. Now, again, this was mostly a formality, so I already happen to have your combat permit and your physical identification here..."

☾◯☽

I looked over the strange identification card in my hands. It looked more or less like a driver's license, back home, and even had a magnetic stripe on the back. But the lower three-quarters of it was entirely transparent and digital.

There was an Atlesian Hard Light display in that air gap, constantly displaying my picture and personal identification, with my pale-skinned, dark-haired mug showing up in the picture frame. 

> **IDENTIFICATION CARD – Atlas**
> 
> **NAME:** Sable, Sarah
> 
> **LN:** 5 DDWDL JKM N58 0GF123 XX 1101
> 
> **DOB:** 01/01/178.12
> 
> **EYES:** HAZ
> 
> **HAIR:** BLCK
> 
> **WGT:** 91 KG
> 
> **H** **GT:** 1.8 M
> 
> **AS ISSUED 06/12/204.12**

Behind the text was the emblem of the Kingdom of Atlas and a strange hexagonal pattern.

I turned the card around to Frank. 

"Can I retake my picture?"

"No," he deadpanned.

He then pointed at the corner of the device. "Now then, ah, press the little black button in the corner there, that'll toggle between your various permits."

"Fancy little gizmo."

I pressed the button, and the display flashed once, before swiftly updating to my combat permit. Same layout, and still included my face, but the inside of the upper-left hand corner said 'LIMITED PERMIT'.

The license number also changed, and had become a string of numbers, 15 digits long. I could have sworn I saw something like this before on the show.

> **LN:** 55503-23133-93943

"So, says here it's a"—I bit my lip as I read the line in question—"Class 3L? Sorry, uh, could you refresh my memory on what that means?"

"Limited combat permit, grade three. If you tap on the license class, it should tell you more."

I did so, and started reading it.

> **Class L licenses – Overview  
> ** Limited Licenses are typically issued to people serving in a defense or security role, that could potentially involve Anti-Grimm duties, who generally lack completion of any formal training or apprenticeship.
> 
> Civilians authorized to carry a firearm are eligible for lower tiers of this permit, though not all authorities will issue all Grades of these licenses equally. 
> 
> At its lowest grade, it qualifies the holder to carry a firearm within the cities of a Kingdom, and nothing else. At higher levels, it comes with additional privileges, but increased restrictions and obligations.
> 
> Each consecutive grade includes the privileges of the previous grades. Class L licenses are commonly re-issued upon the acquisition of a new grade, and each holder gains a new license number, upon obtaining the new one. The old numbers are put back into a queue and recycled within their Grade.

Frank pushed his way out from his chair, and had picked up his Scroll, tucking it under his arm again. I scrolled down with a delicate touch, then read the rest. 

> These are usually issued by the civilian government of a kingdom instead of an Academy, and issued only to the military or the police. Class L combat licenses have **8** grades, each with more rigorous checks than the last.
> 
> If present, Class L license holders are bound by law to defer to experienced Huntsmen holding licenses of other classes, including unrestricted licenses. Failure to comply will result in harsh penalties, including fines of upwards of Ⱡ300,000, a prison sentence of up to 4 years, and **permanent** revocation of the permit.
> 
> **Grade 3 License** **–** **Limited Combat Permit  
> ** This license allows an individual to act in the defense of the Kingdom or its citizens with some liability protections and somewhat increased access to defense hardware. This still forbids access to highly destructive hardware, like grenades and heavy weapons, but allows the individual to purchase less-lethal hardware such as Flash Grenades or Lightning Dust munitions. 
> 
> Class L license holders are not accorded Requisition Points, and must pay for their own gear. This license does not include any special liability protection in the event of collateral damage, should the holder actually enter combat, and the holder is also strongly discouraged from doing so.
> 
> This is typically only issued to private security guards and mercenaries.

"Huh. Okay, then."

"Everything in order, Miss Sable?"

"I think so."

I swiftly pocketed the tiny identification device, then looked back at Frank, biting my lip apprehensively.

"We done here?"

"Yes. Just some internal bookkeeping to do on my end, but you and I are done."

He pulled his glasses out from his pocket, then smiled at me. 

"Welcome to Atlas, Miss Sable."

His eyes widened a little as he spoke again. "Oh! Ah, where _is_ my head?"

I stood up myself, then waved my hands outwards in confusion, grabbing my day pack.

"I'm sorry?" 

"Yes, ah. Forgot to mention, there's a standard contest period of 6 months, within which a public notice will be made of your arrival, and individuals may be allowed to contest your identity by filing with the immigration office.

"Given you don't have any living family members that you know of, it shouldn't be an issue, but I am legally obligated to inform you of the possibility."

I crossed my arms and stood there, tapping my fingers anxiously.

"So, someone can just undo all of this if they wanted?"

He shook his head. 

"Not in a day. It's a drawn-out process, involving hearings, and the contest has to be validated. Duel to Aura Break is also on the books as a valid contest option, though there's a separate process for that."

Seemingly catching my rising apprehension, he decided to reassure me.

"I wouldn't worry too much. Nobody has contested identity in cases like yours for decades, and none of them have been resolved through duels. If you are who you say you are, you have nothing to worry about."

"Contest period." I nodded, then pursed my lips. "Alright, good to know, Mister Fieri. Thank you."

I held out my hand, offering to shake over it. He, having put his gloves on again, accepted it.

"Welcome home, Miss Sable."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to Gordon Freeman.  
>   
> Sorry for the long chapter length this time around. I try to keep it to around 2500 words, but there was just so much I needed to get through. If you think about it, it's a little apropos that a chapter about Atlesian Bureaucracy would be a little longer and dryer than usual. I tried to trim the fat where I could, but I still overshot it. It happens.  
>   
>  **License Grades**  
>  As mentioned in that little blurb up there, there are 8 separate grades of Licenses that are not Hunter licenses, but instead are designed for like low-level civilians or the military to use.  
>   
> Grade 1 is pretty much just the American second amendment, but locked behind a short turnaround time and issued at no cost. Main thing is just to ensure that a civilian's right to defend themselves is available, but not guaranteed to everyone, including felons.  
>   
> Grade 2 allows an individual to bear a firearm in a concealed fashion and walk around in public.  
> Grade 4 is an extended version of Grade 3 that's a lot harder to obtain for regular civilians, and is actually also used as an entry-level permit for police officers that are in training. It's sort of like a United States Type 1 Federal Firearms License, but more geared towards actually buying the gear, and there's still a lot of things a Grade 4 holder can't buy.  
>   
> Grades 5, 6, 7, and 8 are entirely reserved for the use of sworn police officers, guards, and the military.  
>   
> These are all completely distinct from Hunter Licenses, and the Hunter Licenses take precedent over these licenses. As in, if there's a licensed Huntsmen around Sarah, she's gotta do what they say.  
>   
>  **Safety in Numbers**  
>  Most of the Kingdom's population concentration is entirely due to the presence of the Grimm and one simple fact stemming from them—safety in numbers. Unfortunately, this strategy falls apart as soon as Salem enters the picture with her ability to coordinate on a massive scale, but on paper, and with the information that's available publicly, it makes sense.  
>   
> I like to think that Ozma tried to discourage this over the years, knowing the danger Salem posed, but the people simply felt safer and happier when surrounded by natural barriers and close to their families, and surrounded by armies of Huntsmen. Ironically, risking total annihilation by Salem seems to have been worth it, as the Kingdoms have prospered and most citizens would probably never even see a Grimm in their lifetime, keeping the overall level of Grimm attacks low, despite the risk of grief-caused emotion spirals.  
>   
> Long term, it seems to be a sustainable strategy. Smaller villages outside of the Kingdoms are considerably less populated, but as a trade-off, they're at more of a risk from the Grimm and have less logistical support. However, a significant number of Huntsmen (No more than 50%, no less than 20%) end up actually returning to their homes upon graduating, protecting their hamlets or villages from the Grimm.  
>   
> These individuals are more often than not, local heroes in their hometown and celebrated for their knowledge and skill. Some become thugs or warlords of a sort, extorting protection for money beyond the basic stipend. This is illegal, however, and the Hunter Order will absolutely send a team to to shut them down.  
>   
> To prevent this sort of thing from happening in the first place, which will, amusingly draw in the Grimm more anyway, due to the Hunter's actions, steep penalties are put in place.  
>   
>  **Kingdoms as Megacities**  
>  With that scaling in mind and the space available, the population of Mantle alone in this fic is somewhere in the ballpark of 30-50 _million_ people, but sprawled out rather than growing _upwards_ (like certain _other_ megacities), in keeping with the relatively short buildings. Atlas, at least 90-150 million.  
>   
> Despite this, I've pegged the _overall_ population (humans and faunus) of the planet to be well below its theoretical carrying capacity, at around 600 million to 750 million, due to the presence of the Grimm and other factors. This is surprisingly reasonable, and a definitely sustainable gene pool.  
>   
> The scale they're working on also makes Salem's and Ozma's jobs _surprisingly_ difficult, explaining why both have to work from the shadows. This also makes Ironwood's decision to raise Atlas in Volume 7 a little more understandable, if highly macabre, and makes the failure of the Mountain Glenn project even more demoralizing.  
>   
> It's there in canon if you look for it, I'm just expanding the scope and scale.  
> 


End file.
